Long Way To You
by Lanceletta
Summary: For Molly it's always been Sherlock, but for Sherlock it was a long way to her.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi dear readers, this is my new story. I hope you will like it, please let me know what you think.**

Molly was stooping tensely on the wheel of the ten year old red Mini Morris. Her eyes were wide open watching the road in front of her in the first streaks of dawn. She was driving bloody fast. Faster than ever.

Maybe it wasn't a very good idea as her driving licence had been expired for ages. Since she moved to London she hadn't need it so she didn't bother to extend its validity. She hated the London traffic and she gave her car to her younger brother who was thrilled to have one of his own and to show off to his new girlfriend. She slowed down a bit and tried to calm down.

_What if a policeman stops me for speeding in a borrowed car with an expired driving licence having with me two bottles of pure alcohol and a bunch of painkillers? Yeah, that would be fun. _

She took a last deep sip of her cigarette and flicked the butt out the window. All windows were down to let the air pull out the smoke.

_Oh God, hope Meena will kill me._

After a few minutes Molly decided that there shouldn't be left any smoke in the car and it was bloody cold so she pulled up the windows and nervously started tapping her fingers on the wheel. She glanced down at the cigarettes on the passenger's seat for a few times but she decided to save them for harder times.

...

Three hours earlier

A tall dark figure stumbled across the semi lighted alley. The streets of this area were silent and empty in that hour. The wheezy man braced himself to run to the opposite alley's shadowed depth through the wide highlighted main road and taking a deep loud breath through his nose he ran fast to reach the cold dusty wall in the dark. He flopped down to the ground and wheezing examined the wound on his left tight under fabric of the blood-soaked trousers. He grimaced to the pain and hissed through his teeth.

Good. No bone or artery damage. He closed his eyes and to control the pain he mentally closed it into the dive in the cellar behind strong steel doors in his mind palace. He tore down a long piece of his shirt and tied it tightly just above the wound on his thigh. Then he took his phone out of his jacket's inner pocket. His head was dizzy but started to type.

At 4am Molly was sleeping in her bed in her small flat on the third floor of an old building near to Bart's. She had a long and tiring day at work. As soon as she arrived home she had a shower and fell into a dreamless sleep. When she heard her phone buzzing first she didn't even want to have a look at it and pulled a pillow to cover her ears. But after murmuring like 'whothehellisthis' under her breath she shifted her blowzy head from the pillow and grabbed the phone. She was twinkling of the sudden light and blew a mop of hair from her face. As she saw the message from an unknown number she got out of the bed incredibly fast and dressed in whatever she found in her cupboard. She glanced down to her phone once again.

**Been shot bring painkillers, food and clothes 52.2667566,-0.8853797,7947**

Molly took her biggest backpack and searched for her surgery kit - last present from her dad when she started uni - a first aid kit and all painkillers she found. She didn't have much but half a year earlier she had pulled out her wisdom tooth and got quite strong ones.

This will do.

She stormed out from her flat while was checking the coordinates Sherlock gave her. They indicated a place near Northampton. According to the map it was a group of some kind of old agricultural buildings. She needed a car but in this time it was almost impossible to find an opened rental.

_Meena. She has a car. Shit, I'll have to lie to her something. Meena lives three blocks away and a Tesco is on the way. Excellent._

Molly rushed into the store and bought a change of male clothes, pure alcohol and some non-perishable food.

When she pushed the bell standing in front of Meena's door she already had practised her speech to her friend for more than fifty times.

'Molly Hooper! What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?' Meena was blinking with sleepy face pulling her beige dressing gown tighter around her chest.

'I'm sorry, sorry, sorry Meena. Really sorry. I just want to borrow your car. My brother had an accident...' she took a deep breath just to be able to keep on lying but Meena misunderstood it.

'Oh, I am terribly sorry Molly. If I can help...'

'Oh, no. He is in a hospital but he is not stable and I have to go there and...'

'Wait.' and Meena disappeared behind the door and after a few seconds she handed Molly the car keys and the papers. 'Here. It's exactly in front of the house across the street. And tell me if I can help with anything else.' Meena's worried expression just increased Molly's already great worm of conscience.

'No. Thank you, Meena. And sorry again,' she said avoiding eye contact and her last words already came from downstairs.

So Molly was driving bloody fast. Faster than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi dears, Thanks for all of you who read the first chapter and are ready for the next one. It's a kind of preparation for the rest of the story, so this is not the most exciting chapter, but I think it was necessary. I'll post the next chapters soon, hopefully.**

**Thanks for you who follow this story, it means a lot that you are interested in the continuation.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Rocking the Redhead, who always has time to write some kind words to everyone. **** Thank you again.**

Seven weeks earlier.

Molly was curled up in her armchair in her small flat and was holding her phone tight. She just had been speaking with John who told her how his best friend had died in front of his eyes that day and now he hadn't known what to do. Molly couldn't say anything but sobbing. Her heart was breaking into pieces for her friend, John. He thought she was crying in her grief and that was all right for now.

She was waiting for Sherlock to arrive. After he had jumped, she made his fake autopsy papers Molly took him into a closet which had been out of order for ages and Mycroft took over a closed but empty coffin, Molly was let to go home earlier as she had just lost a very close friend.

Friend, yes. She had been in love with that bastard for ages now. But after that significant Christmas party she really gave up every hope. Now all that she wanted was to be one of his few friends. Someday this unrequited love will fatigue, and maybe she will be able to have a normal relationship with a nice guy. In the last year she tried to get far from him, not to be involved every case he was on, not to be always available when he needed something. Seeing the current situation, that she was the only one knowing he was alive she really screwed up that 'let's not be too close to him and focus on real life' thing.

_Yeah, that went well. Congratulations, Molly Hooper._

_..._

Sherlock waited for the night shift when there were only a few of the stuff. He had changed his clothes to casual wear. Molly brought him light jeans and, short brown jacket, fake glasses and a textile hat. These were totally not what he would wear and that was why it was perfect.

_Surprisingly good job, Molly. _

...

In her one bedroom flat Molly was sitting in her armchair and was besetting her half empty mug with cold tea when she heard two light knocks on her door.

_Oh thank God, he did it._

She sprang up and placing her mug on the small table quickly stepped to the door and opened it wide to let Sherlock in.

He stepped in with long paces and stopped in the middle of the flat. Molly was still standing in front of the now closed door fidgeting with her fingers smiling in relief, looking up at Sherlock from above her long lashes.

He turned around quickly to measure the place and frowned.

'You've got quite a small flat, Molly.'

Molly faltered towards the kitchen and switched on the light staring to fill the kettle with water.

'Yes...uhm... you know... I don't really need a bigger one. I am always at Bart's. My Mum says if I had... ohm ... Sorry, I stop platting. Tea?'

She turned towards Sherlock who was now lying on her short couch with stretched legs crossed at the ankles on one armrest and hands under his head. He was watching the ceiling with serious expression and seemed to be somewhere else so she didn't even waited for the answer.

Molly rolled her eyes and turned back with a small smile on her face.

_Typical Sherlock Holmes, he can behave everywhere like he owned the whole place._

She sighed.

'Yes, please. Two sugars and milk.'

Molly made their tea, placed his on the coffee table and sat down onto her armchair.

'And what...I mean... when will you leave? Oh, not that I want you to leave. I mean ...not that I would think you're staying with me...I mean in my flat...but...' She was interrupted by the now sitting Sherlock who was holding out his right hand.

'Give me your phone.'

Molly desultorily took her phone out from her pocket and handed it to Sherlock without a word. He clicked the back of her phone and with quick movements inserted a small item in it.

'This device sends information on your current location to Mycroft and a false one to the central database. So if Moriarty's men get suspicious, you will gain time to get in touch with my brother. You've risked a lot when you helped me, I assume you know that.'

Molly silently nodded and looked down at the mug in her hands.

'If anything goes wrong, if I won't be successful and they discover me, you will be the first one, who they want to find. If anything happens out to normal, if anybody wants to get close to you too fast, you feel followed contact Mycroft immediately. Understand?'

'Yes,' Molly muttered under her breath.

_If something wrong happens to you, I will definitely have one less reason to live. _

Molly thought with sudden sadness. Until now she hadn't even had time to think about what would happen after his fake death.

_Of course he has to clear his name and prove that Moriarty was real. But will it be so dangerous? _

Sherlock placed his elbows onto his knees, dropped his head between his shoulders and growled in frustration while he ruffled his dark curls back and forth. When he stood up he straightened himself, his face was expressionless when looked at Molly.

'I stay here for a few days till Mycroft prepare everything to me to leave the country unnoticed.' He nodded for himself wincing and added, 'I need a towel.'

'Oh, of course. They are in the case right under the washbasin. The bathroom is over there' and she pointed at one of the two doors.

'Yes, obviously,' he answered passing towards the bathroom.

Molly heard him showering but she wasn't able to move from her chair.

_You should go to bed Molly Hooper. Of course he will sleep in your bed it's the only reasonable solution since your couch is short even for you. You are an adult; sleeping beside each other is really not different from standing in the queue in the canteen next to each other._

With that Molly stood up and went to her bedroom, took down her dressing gown and slipped under the duvet. She was waiting for Sherlock with racing heart trying to pretend being asleep. But he hadn't come. Slowly she sank into a deep dreamless sleep.

Hours later she woke up to the sound of heavy gasping and tossing about in the bed. When she turned she saw Sherlock sitting on the bedside on his side in nothing but his pants with his elbows on his knees, head dropped among his shoulders. His bare shoulders were lifting to the rhythm of his loud wheezing.

Molly slowly rose to her knees, reached out and touched his bare shoulder whispering in a calm voice. 'It's all right, Sherlock.'

To her touch he stretched and hissed.

'Don't...!' he barked and Molly jerked her hand back immediately and whispered a mute 'Sorry' but Sherlock was already on his feet and without turning back he rushed out of the room.

When Molly woke up in the morning she was sure that she would just find Sherlock vanished, but stepping out of the bedroom she saw the man sitting on the couch in the clothes Molly had bought him the day before. Molly was not a morning person so she just murmured 'goodmorning' and headed towards the bathroom.

When she came to the main room ready for leaving to work, Sherlock was still sitting on the couch with closed eyes but he wasn't asleep.

Molly grabbed her bag and coat and with a tired sigh said, 'There is food in the fridge, help yourself.' She waited for some reply for seconds but since it hadn't arrived she opened the door and stepped out of the flat leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

The next few days went by without anything interesting. They spent the time together when Molly was home in convenient silence. They shared meals and Molly's bed, but Sherlock hadn't had a night terror again. Everything was calm and silent, just like the air before the storm.

On the sixth day when Molly entered the flat she knew exactly that he was gone. She wandered into the kitchen with the huge packages she carried home from the supermarket. Sherlock ate extremely huge amount of food, she had had to keep up with him.

She collapsed onto one of the white chairs and sighed shakily burying her face in her palms.

Only hours later, when she decided to go back to the bed which surely still had his scent, she noticed the small note on her pillow.

**Thank you, Molly Hooper.**

**So talk to me, dears. **** I am desperate to read your opinion. Once again, sorry for the mistakes, I try my best. **


	3. Chapter 3

When Molly arrived at the warehouses near to Northampton she was exhausted from the long trip and the constant worrying. She stopped the car in the shadow of an alley and got out of it while frowning above her phone. She grabbed her now huge backpack from the backseat.

She quickly stepped inside a deep green building, one of the smaller ones, following the coordinates Sherlock has sent her, walking deep into the huge depository, she faced a closed steel door in one corner of the place. The dead air smelled like rotten wet wood and the huge amount of the dust on the walls and the windows told her that the place hadn't been in use for years. Although she recognised that the floor was quite clear in a wide area near to the door. Sherlock had covered his tracks. If somebody didn't know what to look for, they definitely wouldn't find any sign of a permanent habitat.

She hesitated for a while, not knowing how to make him notice her presence. When she finally decided to simply knock and shifted her fist, the door opened and a bony pale face appeared in the crack. She immediately recognised the familiar green-blue eyes, bloodshot in fewer before they turned back into the containing head, and with a loud thump Sherlock's whole body disappeared behind the slightly opened door.

'Oh, Geez.' Molly whispered then pulled her whole weight and pushed the heavy steel door with her shoulder.

The creaking door balked by Sherlock's unconscious body slowly moved by each brunt, made by her small fragile body. It was amazing what a human body was capable of in a state of panic. For the forth push the door was opened enough to squeeze herself through the gap leaving behind the huge bag. Molly immediately kneeled beside Sherlock and checked his vital signs. His pulse was palpable, his breathing was steady. The wound on his left thigh looked awful but she diagnosed him movable. She placed her lips to his temple to check his temperature. He was in fever which was definitely not a good sign. The wound had to be cleaned as soon as possible.

Molly looked around the small late staff room; she saw huge sink on the wall opposite the door, a mattress in one corner with several blankets on it, a bunch of clothes, some leftover boxes from last week but what caught her eyes were the bloodstains all over the place.

She quickly pulled Sherlock's body to the doss, placed it properly, covered his upper body with the blankets and dashed out to take in her backpack. Molly locked the door behind her and started to throw the things out of the bag until finally she found what she was searching for. First she had to wake him up, to let him know what would happen and to make him take some painkillers before Molly takes out the bullet from his leg.

Fortunately the water was running from the tap. Molly wetted one random clothe of the mound, squeezed it and kneeling beside Sherlock, started to mop up the sweat from his forehead murmuring his name. He shattered for the cold touch on his face and opened his eyes.

'Molly...' he murmured under his breath on a low hoarse voice trying to focus on the girl's face leaning above him.

'Hush now, and listen carefully, Sherlock.' Molly's voice was calm and steady, although deep inside she could scream from panic and fear. 'I need to remove the bullet, and close the wound. Now, I give you three quite strong painkillers, you have to take them, however I can't guarantee that it won't hurt. Actually it surely will hurt. It will be more endurable tough. You will have to stay with me during the operation no matter how it hurts you mustn't faint or drop off to sleep. Do you understand?' Sherlock merely nodded, trying to gulp the painkillers Molly placed into his mouth. As Molly lifted his head to make him able to drink some water he could see her other hand shaking while holding the bottle of water. As Sherlock swallowed the pills he leaned back exhaling sharply and watched Molly intensely as she prepared and disinfected the tools for the surgery.

Slowly he felt the foggy feeling in his brain, and the pain decreased in his thigh as well. Molly managed to do everything precisely and calmly taking the necessary time .

'Now I cut your trousers off you.' She carefully eased him of his blood soaked pants. 'Then I clean the wound. This will hurt, but you have to focus on me. I will ask questions and as long as you answer I know you are conscious. You have to stay with me.' Molly sighed as she took the antiseptic gauze into her gloved hand. While she washed the surface around the wound methodically she managed to question him in an almost peaceful voice.

'What's your favourite colour?' Molly knew that this wasn't the wisest question, but now it wasn't about witty conversation. 'Sherlock, answer me!' As she demanded, Molly glanced up to his face. Sherlock winced and pushed the reply out through his teeth.

'Black.'

'Well done. What's your mother's name?'

'Elisabeth,' came the slow answer.

'Have you ever had a pet?' Sherlock gulped as Molly continued the cleaning.

'Yes.'

'What kind?'

'Dog.'

'What was it's name?'

'Red...beard.'

'Nice. Can you drive?'

'Yes.'

'Where did you firs meet John?' Molly hoped that mentioning his best friend gives Sherlock strenght to endure the pain.

'You know... lab.'

'Yes, I know. I'm not curious, just want to make you speak. What's your favorite food?'

'Convict... curry.' Sherlock hissed, Molly frowned.

'You are joking, good.' She smiled at him encouragingly. 'Who's your favourite actor?'

'I don't... stupid question...argh.'

'Now I will pull out the bullet, that will be horrible but quick.' Sherlock sucked in a breath, clenched his teeth and knuckled. Molly was fast and precise. The bullet was out in a second. Molly pushed a wick strongly on the freshly bleeding wound.

'Sherlock, are you with me?' When she was given no answer Molly repeated her question louder. 'Sherlock, are you with me?' Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and spoke in a hoarsy voice but his breathing was troubled.

'Yes...painkiller!' Molly had expected this and after pulling down her gloves she gave him another pill and water. Now Sherlock saw her hands were steady. She calmed down as she did her work. She needed to be detached and professional. It was like a kind of trance, Sherlock knew it very well.

'Now I will close the wound. It won't hurt that much, but still want to hear your voice.' Molly said as she fondled his forehead looking tenderly into his eyes. Sherlock suddenly felt calm and his heart rate became slower, his breathing less wheezy. He didn't know it was caused by the forth painkiller or Molly's gentle touch. Maybe both.

'But no stupid questions.'

'Right, tough I can't promise to have conversation about astrophysics while I am taking care of a nearly deadly wound on you.' She smiled her sweet smile again at him as she pulled on a new pair of gloves. She was beautiful, she was glowing, she was tenderness, she was safety, she was everything. Sherlock felt his eyelids became heavier as he watched Molly preparing for the last phase and smiled. Molly glanced at him and quickly leaned above him to see his pupils. They were wide.

'God, too much painkillers, your body is weaker than I thought.' Molly whispered and suddenly gave him a slap. 'Sherlock, stay with me. Stay. With. Me. You. Have. To. Focus. Sherlock!' Molly almost shouted the last words. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and slowly focused on her.

'I'm ...here.' he whispered.

Molly took the wet rug on his forehead hoping to refresh him a bit. When she went back to the wound she noted that the bleeding had reduced, so there was no serious danger of uncontrollable bleeding.

'What did you want to be when you were a little boy?'

'Pirate, Redbeard would have been be my first mate.'

Molly smiled and diffused a great amount of styptic powder in the wound.

'Who is you favourite composer?'

'Sibelius, sooooo beautiful.'

Molly applied a strong dressing, and sighed in relief.

'We are done. You'll be all right.' Molly sat back on her heels and finally after long hours she let herself relax.

'I know. You are wonderful, Molly Hooper. You are so kind, and caring and you are glittering like a star on the night..sky. You...are...an...angel...who...never...lets...me...down...I...' Sherlock spoke slower and slower with every breath.

'Yeah, definitely too much painkillers,' Molly whispered with a frown. She checked his temperature, it was lower, and he had sunk into a deep dreamless sleep. She applied a blood pressure meter on his arm to check it in every twenty minutes while he was sleeping and stood up to make herself something comfortable as a rack from the rest of the blankets. As she lay down next to him listening his steady calm breathing, Molly faced Sherlock and watched his hollow cheeks, lantern jaw, more than three-day-old stable. As she literally felt her level of adrenaline diving under the ground, her silent tears began to draw wet lines on her face chasing each other just to fall on the dirty folded blanket under her head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi there,**

**thank you for reading this story and appreciating it with your reviews, favourites and follows. I am very grateful for all of them. So here's the next one. I hope you will like this. Let me know your opinion by reviews or any kind of way. I will be very happy if you do. **

Sherlock woke up under the three blankets Molly had covered him with to avoid him shaking from freeze he felt, thanks for the fever and the painkillers. But he was hot now and with a wide, sudden move he threw away two blankets from himself. Sherlock regretted this quick action because felt the growing ache in his thigh. He opened his eyes to see Molly nowhere. As he stretched his neck to look around he noted with relief that her backpack was still there leant against the wall next to the door, and let his head fall back onto the mattress.

Sherlock felt the urge to call her shouting her name out loud, but suppressed it and decided to wait patiently. The staff room he settled in was without windows so he could use the lights freely anytime without being visible from outside. He switched the small storm light beside his temporary bed and reached out for his phone Molly had put beside him to check the time. It was half past midnight so he had been sleeping for more than half a day.

When he finally heard squeak the heavy steel door he turned his head to see Molly entering with her hair down in her long, light brown jumper. As she lifted her face she smiled weakly at him.

'You are awake?' It was more a statement than a question. Sherlock cleared his throat feeling it sore from the too much sleeping.

'Yes, I am,' he answered huskily.

As Molly stepped closer and kneeled down beside him, he was following her movements with his eyes. Her presence, her slow movements were so tranquilizing. Focusing on her, her well known face, long brown hair, on her familiar scent was... but something was wrong.

'Molly? Were you smoking?' Sherlock sniffed towards her.

'Hmmm, yes. Sometimes...when I am very nervous...I haven't had any since university. I quit after ... you know...my dad died.' She didn't look into his eyes but started to fidget with the hem of her oversized, worn jumper.

'Why are you nervous now?' Sherlock frowned at her. Molly suddenly raised her head and looked at him with a frown.

'Are you ... you kidding me?' Molly glared at him in disbelief. No, he wasn't, he really looked confused. Molly sighed rolling her eyes. 'I..uhm..You could have died. And it is ... not exactly the state I want to see you in.'

'But you've saved me.' His confusion melted away and his look became inquiring. Molly couldn't stand his glance and looked down on her hands again.

'Let me see your bandage,' she said shortly, clearing her throat and without looking at Sherlock, missing to see his eyes intensely following her every movement. She folded away the blanket to reveal his thigh. She gingerly removed the dressing and sighed.

'It seems it started to heal well. I change the dressing.'

Sherlock remained silent and motionless. As he was watching her working, his face was still. When Molly finished she covered him back carefully, stood up and shuddered.

'Now you have to eat. I've brought some tinned food.' Molly pulled out cans from her bag and walked back to Sherlock. Which one do you prefer?' And she put down four different tin in front of him. 'I think they have to be equally awful, sorry, I didn't have the proper time to cook something nice, because, you know, you were bleeding out somewhere in the middle of nowhere,' Molly added with a smile which didn't reach her eyes.

Sherlock pointed at one of them without looking, his eyes were still on Molly. He swallowed hard and started to speak as Molly walked back towards one of the cupboards he occupied, 'You are a doctor. I knew you could do it.'

'My patients rarely require lifesaving.'

'Nobody knows bullet wounds more then you.'

'Well, John...' Molly stopped and took a deep breath. 'Sorry. But why don't you tell him? He would be more effective help than me.'

'I can't, and you know why. If it's too much to ask...'

'Oh, no, no, no. I mean... yes...that's hard to see you wounded...but it's good. I mean it's not good that you've been shot, but I am glad I can help you. But I think I am not such as useful as John would be. That's all.' She shrugged to look easy, but Sherlock saw the small clench of the little muscle under her chin. She was still tensed and annoyed.

Opening the can Molly returned with a spoon in it and passed them to the now sitting man. He began to eat with suppressed disgust.

He murmured between two bites, 'This really is awful, but it's ...nourishment.' He glanced up at Molly with a small grin, taking the next bite. Molly smiled back at him shortly, and leaned back to the doss next to Sherlock's mattress and closed her eyes...

'Don't be ridiculous, Molly! Sleep on mine, I've already slept enough.' Sherlock dragged to the end of his mattress while wincing and looked at Molly expectantly. She didn't have enough energy to argue about anything with him. Being exhausted from the previous day she rolled over without a word where he slept before. She could feel the warmth of his body still lingering on the surface.

'If you need anything...' Molly murmured and yawned as she turned onto her stomach.

'I know, now go to sleep. In the morning you'll leave.' Molly's already half closed eyes snapped open.

'Oh, will I?' Her heart sank from Sherlock's cold words.

Sherlock simply nodded staring into the darkness of a distant corner of the room.

Soon he heard Molly's steady breathing and left his eyes to dwell on the small form of her body. Since that certain day he had been thinking about if it had been a good decision to make Molly involved in all of this. In this whole sick game Moriarty played, which he enjoyed first too much with all its puzzles and thrill. Molly was just a blushing girl in the morgue who had the misfortune to have a crush on him, which he had been using without thinking it twice. Although she was the key to his survive, this innocent, brave, loyal woman. He sometimes wished he would never let her into this rotten word of his, and would keep her safe where she belonged to. But she was his saviour, and all he could offer in gratitude was rushing her into danger constantly.

Sherlock swallowed hard and decided to serve himself from Molly's smoke. He stood up with bigger effort and pain he had previously assumed. After taking on a pair of jeans, which seemed an endless suffering, he wobbled to Molly's bag and searched it for the cigarette. It was low-tar, of course. With a roll of his eyes, he took one between his lips and limped out of the room. He leaned back to the door lighting the smoke he was so grateful for.

When Molly woke up in the early morning, Sherlock was sitting next to her paddling on his phone. He looked better and definitely cleaner, but the first thing she saw was that his curly mops were gone. He cut it short on the side and combed it back on the top. He looked so different.

'I can't risk being recognised during my trip. I leave the country today, I am done here for a while,' he said without looking up from his phone. 'I saw you rented a car in the city. I presume you borrowed a friend's car, drove to Northampton, then took a cab or a bus, to cover your tracks, and then rented this car. Am I correct?' He glanced up with narrowed eyes expecting appreciation.

'Actually both.' Molly said after clearing her throat to banish the huskiness. When Sherlock only raised one eyebrow in confusion she added. 'Took a bus then a cab.'

'Hmm' he nodded 'Clever girl.' He smiled with a warm smile she had never seen before. She blushed, a small grin spread on her face and her eyes fell.

'Now, you have to go,' said Sherlock returning his attention back to his phone.

Molly stood up slowly and stretched with a yawn. As she took on her shoes and gathered her stuff she constantly glanced at Sherlock, hoping to get some more attention from him, but of course, he stayed passive. When Molly was ready to leave, she was standing in front of the door, clenching the handle and changing her weight from one foot to the other waiting for Sherlock to say something or at least look at her.

'So, good bye then. Be ... safe.' She said as tears began to roll down her cheeks and turned to leave when she heard Sherlock's deep baritone.

'Good bye, Molly.' Molly froze but didn't turn to face him. She didn't want him to see her cry although she didn't know the exact reason of her tears. She felt sorrow for Sherlock, she feared for his life or she pitied herself for being in love hopelessly with this unbelievable git? She really didn't know.

As Molly was driving towards the city, constantly wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, her phone buzzed. As she read the short text, her face brightened up and Molly knew that this text will give enough strength to her pathetic, lovesick heart to hold on till next time.

**Thank you, Molly Hooper.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi dears, **

**Thank you for your lovely reviews. I was so glad to read them. So here's the next one. Hopefully you will like this one too.**

Five month later

'Molly! Molly, wait!' Molly turned to the direction of the voice to see Mike Stanford jogging towards her on the long corridor of the basement. As he caught up with the young pathologist, he tried to catch his breath and wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. 'Uh, Molly...your landlord had just called. He said that your flat had been soaked again by the tenant above you.' Molly's eyebrows arched in surprise. 'If you want, I can ask Peterson to fill in for you for the rest of the day.'

'Uhm, thank you Mike, it would be very nice of you,' said Molly as she quickly turned to grab her bag and coat from the locker.

She almost ran out of the hospital to hail a cab to reach her flat as soon as possible She was in a rush but not because she was afraid that the water from above would damage anything in her tiny flat. No. She had a landlady, not a landlord, and her flat was on the top of the four story building. But she knew that a certain impossible dead man was in her flat waiting for her, presumably with a few bleeding wounds.

In the last three months since he was back to England, Sherlock had appeared randomly in her flat with various injuries. Sometimes he needed sew or bandages and rarely he just needed a safe place to have a rest. He always left with a note or a text thanking her help. She was wondering if she would ever hear him actually say it.

As Molly entered her flat it seemed empty but soon she heard the tap running in the bathroom. She sighed in relief and taking down her coat, shoes, Molly walked to the bathroom door and lightly knocked.

'Do you need help?' She narrowed her eyes as she was ears dropping, but there was no answer. When the white door finally snapped open a red headed, half naked Sherlock Holmes, towel across his right shoulder appeared in front of her eyes.

'Actually, yes.' As he removed the late white towel, Molly could see the awfully lot of blood filter from a quite long cut under his shoulder blade not so far above his heart.

'Umpf...' she backed but in the next moment she was it the kitchen searching for the medical kit, which had to be expanded since Sherlock had regularly emptied it.

'It looks quite bad. Does it hurt?' Molly asked with worried curiosity. Sherlock hissed as Molly began to clean.

'Barely. By the way, since when do you have stars on your ceiling?'

'Very funny.' Molly murmured under her breath.

When Molly finished sewing and bandaging the deep cut on Sherlock's shoulder, she ordered him to sit on the armchair and stay still, and she disappeared in her bedroom. When she was back she held a long neckerchief in her hand, it was white with small red pattern. As she came closer Sherlock saw that the red dots were small cherries and he got appalled.

'Cherries? No way!' He objected with horrified expression and Molly giggled.

'It's the only one which has the optimal inelasticity. Now lean forward!' She held the fabric in front of Sherlock eyes, but he just stared into her eyes stubbornly. 'Sherlock!' She yelled at him still giggling. He huffed and let her to fix his right arm into the right position in front of his chest.

'Tomorrow I will get another one, I promise.' She said calmingly.

During these three months Molly became more relaxed in Sherlock's presence. She got used to have him being around, popping up occasionally with wounds, eating her fridge out and occupy half of her bed. Although Molly was still in love with Sherlock, probably more than ever, she had given up her hopes years ago and was just ineffably happy to see him alive.

The wound on his right shoulder healed slowly, and despite of all his effort, it took him out of action. After a few days of forced rest Sherlock started to become more grumpy and critical than ever. He was like a tiger in a cage, a very bored tiger. Molly knew him well enough to know that it was better to avoid him for her own sake. She took extra hours at work, began to wander around the supermarket, doubling the time spent there, she walked home from Bart's instead of taking the tube. But still she couldn't be home little enough to completely avoid Sherlock's constant bad mood. Sometimes he seemed to make an extra effort only to peck at her.

One morning she was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom staring at her own drawn face. She decided to cover up the deep dark bags from under her eyes. Molly grabbed her poor make-up kit from the shelf. She chose it would do good for her to feel pretty that day so she continued with adjusting some mascara too when she saw the bathroom door opening in the mirror and her temporary flatmate stepping in. Molly froze in her motion and looked into his eyes through the reflection.

'Do you need the bathroom?'

Sherlock was just standing there with lips pushed together for a moment then suddenly spluttered like he couldn't keep it inside.

'They won't make you prettier, completely useless.' Molly slowly turned towards him; she stepped forward and slammed the door into his face. She heard him huffing but to Molly's relief he walked away from the bathroom.

The other day Molly felt like cooking and pulling together all her knowledge, she made the best lasagne with tuna and caper of her life. It looked delicious with the molten cheese on the top spotted with the semi-roasted capers. The enticing smell was attractive enough to lure Sherlock Holmes out from his mind palace. As he wandered out to the kitchen he grabbed a spoon without a word, took a huge portion of the still steaming food on the table and after a little blowing he took it into his mouth.

Molly was standing there, waiting for a satisfied moan or an appreciative nod. But no. All he could burst out was that he didn't like caper. Molly's eyes narrowed, she knew it was not a big deal, but this was the last drop in the glass. She whirled around, grabbed her coat and purse, and stormed out of the flat leaving a confused consulting detective behind.


	6. Chapter 6

'Hi, Meena. Do you have plans tonight?' Molly sighed into the street phone's reciver with a heavy heart.

'Oh, hi, sweetie. No, nothing particular. Are you all right?' Meena asked concerned.

'No, not really.' And a sob burst out of Molly.

'Oh, God. Where are you?'

'I'm just...wandering around. I can't be home when he used to...'

'Oh, God. Okay, go to my flat, key is behind the plant on the left, make yourself a tea, or better, pour yourself a glass of whiskey, top cabinet on the right, and I'll be there in an hour.' Meena was almost sputtering in concern.

'Okay, okay.' Molly nodded sobbing.

Molly was curled up on Meena's large red sofa, covered by a fluffy beige blanket, besetting a glass of whiskey and staring at some celebrity show still sobbing when she heard the key turn in the lock. Meena entered her living room, saw her friend and her heart sank. The once constantly cheerful, smiling friend was a pitiful mess in front of her. She knew how Molly was deeply in love with that detective who jumped off the exact hospital's roof Molly had been working, but that was month ago. She expected a long grieving time but not this long and not this intensive.

Molly raised her eyes at her friend and sighed.

'I am sorry, I am a complete disaster.'

'Molly, you should talk about it.' Meena lumped down next ro her and took a sip from Molly's glass who was just shaking her head.

'I can't. I'm sorry.' And her tears begin to flow again. Meena sighed.

'Fine. Then let's get drunk, eat cookies and in the morning you will forget about your heartache because you will have the worst hangover of your life. Meena smiled at Molly and clapped her hand. Molly forced a weak smile, but her friend took it as an encouragement, anyway.

Three hours later the girls were laughing at some old embarrassing story from high school sitting on the floor, their back supported by the couch.

'Thanks, Meena. I feel absolutely better. Now I should go.'

'Nooo, the party has just started.' Meena chuckled and poured another glass of wine for both of them.

So Molly stayed the night and actually half a day in addition to get over her worst hangover ever.

As she was turning her keys in the lock she heard Sherlock shouting inside. Brilliant, she thought, he's in the mood again. She silently closed the door behind her, trying to invisibly sneak into the kitchen, but she miserably failed, naturally. Sherlock paced up and down while holding his phone to his ear tightly but as he turned and saw Molly he pushed his lips together in annoyance.

'She's returned, you can counterback your minions, Mycroft.' Then he hung up, slowly took down his phone on the table and took a few steps towards Molly only to stand in front of her just a few inches away. He was tall and overtopped her as he bent his head.

'Where the hell have you been during almost a whole day?' he hissed with narrowed eyes. 'You didn't even took your bloody phone with you.' He was angry, Molly had never saw him being this furious. The little muscles around his mouth were tensed as he clenched his teeth.

As Molly was looking up at him through her long eyelashes and she murmured something about Meena and whiskey he was getting closer and closer. At one point Sherlock stopped closed his eyes to take a shaky breath, Molly could feel the air smoothing her forehead, his face showed big effort, when suddenly his eyes snapped opened only to look into Molly's big brown ones. His words were barely audible.

'Oh, damn it. I give up.' And what was the last thing Molly had ever thought would happen was happening. With one hand Sherlock decisively turned her face upwards and with the other he drew Molly as close as he could to himself and kissed her with so deep passion Molly had never thought he had possessed. She responded with all her love and desire she had felt through the years.

'I bloody give up, ' he whispered again against her mouth and kissed her with tightly closed eyes as his hands were all over her body frantically searching for the hem of her jumper as she was unbuttoning his shirt with equal impatience.

Molly felt the urge to tell she loved him, that she had been in love with him since the first time she saw him, that she would do anything for him. But the words remained unspoken, she didn't have the courage to pour out everything, probably spoil the mood with her overflowing sentimentality. So she swallowed her words down and tried to give everything she was, show everything he meant to her.

Sherlock felt Molly's soft body slowly melting against his. She felt so good, she was warm, welcoming and so responsive with her shivers and sweet gasps. He felt her every muscle tensing and relaxing under his fingertips. Her every touch, every caress, every kiss was full of tenderness and devotion. He had never felt so loved in his whole life. He wanted to tell her how his whole body and mind was committed to her, how long he had longed for her possessive embrace. But his voice betrayed him for once and the words stuck inside somewhere on the way between his clenching heart and drying lips.


	7. Chapter 7

The buzzing of his phone came after midnight. Sherlock was awake, was sorting things out in his head. The text was sending by his brother made him put aside the thoughts which had confused him without end.

**A serious menace has been found in Eastern Europe. Must be handled immediately. Car will be there for you in ten minutes. MH**

He slipped out from the bed silently, gathered his clothes from the floor and dressed quickly. There was no reason to wake her. What would he say, anyway? He made a mistake, although he didn't regret it at all. But he knew that, if there was a time for such things in his life, this definitely wasn't it. Molly would suffer more than ever, he would be miserable trying to keep her out of his mind. He was already carving for her touch, for feeling her love again. But he didn't even know if he would survive this whole mission. What could he promise her, what should he ask her to do? He knew no answer for any of his questions.

Sherlock pulled his bag out from under the bed and silently put in it everything he had at Molly's flat. Clothes, books, devices. He even packed his shampoo and toothbrush. He didn't want to leave any evidence of him staying there. If there was any possibility that this serious menace was related to his faked death, he wanted to clear the place from every sign of himself. Molly mustn't be taken into any more danger than she already was.

When he was ready, he rushed to the door but before he would have exited the flat he stopped. Shakily closed his eyes and clenched his mouth. With a deep breath he walked back to the bed leaned down so close to Molly's face, he felt the light puffs of her breath on his lips but closed his eyes resisting the urge to kiss her and probably wake her. He just stored her scent deep down in his mind palace and ran his fingers just right above her hair, her long neck and then her collar bone feeling the warmth of her skin on his fingertips. Sherlock heard the silent rumble of the car stopping in front of the house and straightened himself, hardened his face and left Molly's small but warm home for an unpredictably long time.

As Sherlock flopped down on the seat next to Mycroft without a word, the older Holmes raised one eyebrow but remained silent for a while. When he finally spoke he didn't bother with pleasantries.

'Now that your pet had strolled home, I thought it was time to leave your warm comfy nest.' Mycroft sighed watching his brother from the corner of his eye.

'She is not a pet,' Sherlock stated bluntly but his big gulp betrayed him.

Mycroft quickly turned his head towards him with narrowed eyes. 'Did you...?'

'Shut up, Mycroft,' Sherlock warned his brother in a low voice.

'Ahh...So you did.' He nodded rolling his eyes.

'Shut. Up.' Sherlock hissed through his teeth with growing anger.

'God, Sherlock. Can't keep things simple, can you? Did you have to let free this ridiculous teenage instinct from your pants right now?' Mycroft almost shouted but lowered his voice to avoid the driver's possibly curious ears.

However the last words hardly escaped from his mouth since the fingers of Sherlock's right hand were wrapped around his neck tightly while he was hissing close to his face. 'Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You call her pet again, and I'll make you regret it. Painfully.' Sherlock was breathing heavily, his nostrils widening with every intake.

The driver slightly turned his head and asked, 'Do you need help, Mr Holmes?'

Although Mycroft hadn't pushed the panic button and his driver was well aware of his rough relationship with his younger brother he currently was grateful for his ears dropping. Mycroft hesitated a bit on his answer while was looking into Sherlock's eyes, then just raised his hand and signed the driver in a negative. The younger Holmes's grip weakened and with a growl he sat back to his seat and turned back towards the window. Mycroft coughed and massaged his throat a bit, trying to gain back his formal straight posture.

Molly woke up long before her alarm would ring. She found the other side of her bed empty. Sherlock was always up before her but somehow it felt different now. She laid still for a moment, listening, hoping to hear something indicating his presence. But the silence was too mute. Molly knew Sherlock was gone. She stayed in bed, cuddling the pillow which had been his, breathing in the scent still lingering there, resting her other hand on the sheet his warm body had occupied hours before. She just stayed there, not feeling anything but that now she was really empty without him, now she knew what she would miss. She wanted to cry, wanted to choke out the clenching weight she felt would eat her whole inside. But nothing came. She just lay there, silently remembering and wanting to go back and stay in the exact moment when she had felt that the man she had been in love for insanely long time loved her back.

She stayed there for an hour, waiting. For what? She didn't know. The door opening and him entering with fresh pastries for breakfast with a wide smile? A text saying thank you? She really didn't know, but nothing happened.

The alarm made her get back to reality. Molly got up like a machine, took a shower and brushed her teeth. She merely nodded to herself with a hum noticing the absence of Sherlock's things from the bathroom. She got dressed automatically; made her always neat ponytail, grabbed her coat and purse and left for work.

Weeks and months had passed and she stopped checking her phone in every ten minutes, stopped searching for hidden notes in her flat and stopped rushing home right after her shift in the hope to find there the consulting detective needing help or her love. He didn't need them apparently. Neither of them.

Molly first met Tom on Meena's birthday party. He was one of Meena's high school classmates recently moved to London. Her friend introduced them to each other while she handed both of them a full glass of whiskey and disappeared with some ridiculous excuse, leaving them awkwardly smiling at each other.

They ended up tipsy, discussing how they were not ready to start any kind of romantic relationship. Tom was just being over a rather messy break-up after five years living together, and Molly, as she said, was too heartbroken and disappointed to even take a look at a man. They parted agreeing to continue the whimpering over their love life another time over a drink. Just amicably.

The meetings got more and more frequent and weren't about complaining anymore but great conversations about books, movies, years at university, childhood and even work. Three months after Meena's party they ended up in Tom's flat in each other's arms.

Meena was practically jumping in happiness, when she heard the news and playfully noted that after all, she had always known Molly had a thing for tall, curly haired men. Molly winced but then continued to smile brushing aside the thought of the detective she had once loved.

...

Sherlock was fighting with himself every occasion when he had to return to England over to visit Molly or not. Every time he ended up to make a compromise and hid on the opposite side of the street close to her flat and watched her fussing about through the windows till she went to sleep.

But one time, after a rather long and dangerous undercover job in Germany he decided he wanted to see her properly, to hold her and to tell her to wait for him, that he would be able to survive if he knew she was waiting for him. But all these words were remained untold because of what he saw from the shadow in the opposite alley.

He froze in his movements, the last sip of his cigarette got stuck in his lungs, his head became dizzy and something hard and heavy settled itself on his chest. As Molly was opening the front door of her building another figure, a tall man sneaked his arms around her waist and turned her towards him to kiss her. Molly lifted her arms, wrapped them around the man's neck and buried her fingers into his hair. After a cheerful giggle Molly opened the door and they disappeared behind it.

Sherlock stood there with narrowed eyes not being able to move for while. He felt his veins going ice-cold. He snorted bitterly then swallowed hard.

_Bloody sentiment. Thank you for reminding me why I don't do such things, Molly Hooper._

He stubbed his cigarette on the dirty wall next to him, turned on his heels and disappeared in the darkness.

**Hi dears, I hope you liked this chapter although it's not a cheerful one, still. Sorry, but you know, they have their ups and downs. ;) But never ever think that I would leave things like this. **** Till next time.**


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was doing his job like a machine. Dismantling Moriarty's network demanded a whole person. There was no time for thinking of who he used to care about. To be distracted by sentiment meant to be weak. There were times when he so much wanted to get in touch with John, to tell him everything, but as time has passed, it became harder and harder. He was lonelier than he could ever remember. Alone had been protecting him before, but now he knew what he had lost with being without the people he held close. He had never felt more miserable and pitiful. And he hated it.

One of the last big strings of the consulting criminal's web was in Russia. It was not strictly a part of Moriarty's web but two very remarkable group of the Russian mob connecting to the network with several strings. But in Moscow there was something else, or rather someone else. Irene Adler, The Woman.

Sherlock was hesitant if he wanted to use her help, but after all, by that time she certainly had gained indispensable information about the local gangland, so he convinced himself that the reunion with Irene would be beneficial.

He booked an appointment with her through her new website with his false ID he had been using when he had rescued Irene years ago.

When he arrived in disguise, hair combed back, wearing elegant grey suit with light blue shirt, he merely ringed the bell when the door opened and a very young maid with a face like a doll appeared to invite him.

'Good afternoon, Mr Anderson. Miss Fiamma is already waiting for you. Please go upstairs.' the maid who spoke fluent English gestured towards the wide staircase.

As he reached the top of the stairs the two huge leaves of the opposite door opened and Irene stepped out elegantly. She had long blond hair now and green lenses in her eyes, but it was her. A short, transparent white gown covered her body, letting to see her white lace lingerie. She froze for a moment with wide eyes as she saw Sherlock.

'It's really you,' she whispered.

'Hmm...' Sherlock nodded. 'I see you've changed your style. How vestal.' He said ironically.

'Only my appearance, dear.' She smiled smugly and stepped closer, swaying her hips. Irene put her hands on Sherlock's chest and started to unbutton his shirt, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her.

'I am here for business.' Sherlock said in a steady voice.

'I hoped so.' Irene smirked, raising one eyebrow and bent to press a lingering kiss on Sherlock's throat, leaving a mark with her blood red lipstick. Still holding her wrist he pushed her away and said plainly, 'Business.'

Irene raised her chin with narrowed eyes. 'Go to my office.' She pointed at a small white door at the end of the corridor. 'I'll be there in a minute.'

As Irene stepped inside Sherlock saw that she had changed from her professional suit into a more casual black, long sleeved dress. She sat down on an armchair, crossed her legs and looked at him expectantly, tilting her head with one raised eyebrow. Sherlock was pacing up and down in the bright glamorous room. He stopped as he looked at Irene.

'I am here to cut out two big families of the mob, who still have great ascendancy in Brittan through Moriarty's connections. I require your instrumentality.'

'What makes you think I am involved in such things?' Irene smirked playfully.

Sherlock sighed rolling his eyes. 'Oh, please. There's no time for this.'

Irene's eyes went cold, her smile faded away and she was tapping with her coral coloured nails on the arm of her chair.

'What will be my reward?' Irene looked into his eyes.

'Anything you want.' Sherlock shrugged .

Irene narrowed her eyes. 'I don't need more money or power. You know, what I want.'

Sherlock nodded slowly. 'Then you will get it.'

'Shiny.' Irene's smile was back again. 'Then enlighten me about the details.'

Three days later they were sitting disguised in a luxury bar owned by one of the most powerful members of the Krilov family. While Irene was occupied to place the small but quite strong bomb under the coach, pretending to adjust her high heels, Sherlock was hanging a bullet with a chain on the suspended lamp in the men's lavatory room.

According to Irene the peace between the Krilov and the Asajev clan had been quite fragile since Moriarty's death. They both wanted the bigger slice of the cake, but they knew too well that they had the power to totally destroy each other if they go into a war. So they had a mutual agreement to let the other do their own business until everybody stays away from the other's territory.

One of Irene's long term client was the Asajev clan's feared assassin, Ivan 'The Bullet' Prekov, who did all the dirty work for the Asajevs from a simple shooting through car accidents to blowing up whole buildings. In every scene he did a job, he left an empty bullet on a chain in a well noticeable place, so everybody knew the job was done by him. According to the gossip once when he was younger he got into a fight and was shot right in his heart. He had survived but the bullet remained in there. Hence every time did a job, he wanted to remind everybody that he was indestructible.

That was the reason why Sherlock left exactly the same type of bullet Prekov used as his signature.

When they left as really tipsy lovers, they made sure to make a sight and not to look like sneaking out, it would have been suspicious.

They walked together hand in hand, giggling, towards the city centre to hail a cab. Sherlock waved one to Irene and opened the door for her. She pressed a long kiss on the corner of his mouth.

'Can't wait to get my reward.' She whispered into his ear seductively before pulling away.

'Khm...yes.' Sherlock smiled a short, fake smile then he shut the door after Irene climbed in.

Sherlock shrugged, grimacing as he put his hands into the pocket of his pelisse. His breath was visible in the cold night air. He started to walk. It was only fifteen minutes left till the nightclub, in which they had planted the bomb, closed. Thirty minutes later, when the last waiter left the place, he pushed the button of the little clever bomb's remote controller, treaded on it and threw the pieces into different dustbins in the dark alleys he was walking on towards his hotel.

Next morning the newspapers were all full of the big massacre between the two powerful families of the mob. Not too much survival and all of them in prison. Ivan 'The Bullet' Prekov's body was among the victims but as the article noted he was the only one who apparently had been poisoned and not shot.

Sherlock was reading the details of the slaughter when his phone buzzed.

**I think the job is done, my reward is in order. Let's have dinner. I'll be there at 7.**

Sherlock didn't answer, it was unnecessary. Irene would come anyway. He didn't intend to run away, on the contrary. He expected his own benefit from the whole situation. Finally delete that night with Molly from his head for good.

When Irene arrived at the hotel's lobby every eye stacked on her. She made a great effort to be irresistible. Perfect hair, perfect face and perfect, not too much clothes. She sensed something off with Sherlock, but she trusted her seductive skills to be self-confident enough.

When she knocked on the door of Sherlock's room, for her disappointment the detective only shouted her a 'come in' from inside, but she put up her most mysterious smile as she entered.

It was already semi-dark in the room and she saw Sherlock's lean figure standing by the window, facing outside. She slowly walked to him while she was taking off her coat, her stole and her shoes leaving them on her way as a trace. She wore only a short black lace dress, not really hiding anything.

'You can order dinner if you want,' Sherlock said gesturing towards the phone, still not turning to face her.

'I would really hate to waste our time with eating, Mr Holmes,' Irene purred as she reached him and sneaked her arms around his chest. She gently turned Sherlock and grabbing his lapels she pulled him down to press her lips to his. First he was unresponsive, just standing there with opened eyes, hanging arms letting her do what she wanted. Irene backed a bit but she narrowed her eyes and started the second attack. She couldn't lose in this battle.

'Close your eyes,' she whispered in a low voice.

Sherlock obeyed in surrender. Nothing had mattered; this had meant nothing at all. But as he closed his eyes Molly's vision came forward in his mind. Her scent, her warmth, her softness. She was everywhere around him. He kissed her hungrily, drunk in her with every sense.

'My Molly,' he gasped lovingly against Irene's lips.

The dominatrix immediately pulled away and backed a few steps. She stared in disbelief but soon pulled herself together and her face became expressionless and cold. At least she wanted to maintain her dignity.

'So, Mr. Sherlock Love-is-a-disadvantage Holmes has finally fallen into the trap.' She lifted her chin proudly, and examined him with narrowed eyes.

'It doesn't matter. Our negotiation is still valid,' he said in a steady voice but his eyes were on the floor.

'No, Mr Holmes. I don't really like to be the second best. It's really ... unprofessional.' Irene grimaced. She turned on her heels and gracefully picked her clothes up. In the doorway she turned once again. 'Go and get that lucky girl, Mr Holmes.'

And with this she disappeared, leaving a miserable detective behind who had just realized that deleting Molly Hooper from his mind would take at least a head shot.

**Sooo, here it is. Not too much Molly, I know, but I had to show their separate ways. **

**I have to tell again, that I love Irene, she is such a great character, and I think they really had a thing, but Molly is more important now. She has several values in which Irene is not really strong. **

**Also I have to say thank you for all your fantastic support by your reviews and followings. And it's always so touching when somebody favourites a story. **

**Till next time. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

A month later Sherlock Holmes came returned to London for good. The first thing he had to do was to tell John he was not dead. He owed him this. He expected joy and happiness though when John practically seemed to explode, he knew that this wouldn't be an easy ride. But when John hit him for the third time, he thought he had lost his friend forever.

The night when he saw Molly with that man, he told Mycroft to stop inform him about the people who had been around him while he was away. He said he didn't want the distraction.

His brother only nodded and being unable to suppress the urge he said, 'I told you so, little brother.'

If Sherlock didn't feel so worn out, he would definitely punch Mycroft. But he was too tired to give his brother the pleasure to see him being such devastated. Instead he nodded and changed the subject.

He had decided to visit Molly right after his encounter with John. He needed to see her despite his brother's every objection.

She was welcoming, and kind as ever but nothing more after she had a glance of him in her locker's reflection.

'Oh, you are back.' She smiled tiredly.

'Yes.' Sherlock nodded.

'Good. I'm glad.' Molly cleared her throat looking slightly aside. 'Are you...are you all right?'

'I'm fine. And you?'

'Me too, me too.' She nodded crisply as an affirmation.

Sherlock left after a few more awkward minutes spent with annoying, erratic casual talk.

On the third day after his return Sherlock texted Molly to come to Baker Street. He knew she would come. Always the helpful Molly. Though her rather bold suggestion to have dinner surprised him. Would it be that easy for her to leave her boyfriend for him? He became quite self-confident in the matter. He had prepared to a battle or even a war and seemingly he only had to ask Molly out to have dinner and she was about to give in. But how wrong he had been he realised at the very moment Molly took off her gloves and he saw the thin silver ring on her left hand.

The cases were dull as hell, a cheater, a stepfather posing as a romantic pen pal to his stepdaughter and an old lady whose tenant was missing.

'And he was gone without a word and never came back.' The grey haired, elegant woman frowned in concern as she finished the story about one of her young tenants disappearing from her luxury apartment house in Central London.

'Yeah, men tend to do that.' Molly murmured under her breath.

Sherlock shot a glance at her and slowly answered but his look returned to the client. 'Probably he had a good reason.'

'I can't see why he couldn't leave a note when he left.' Molly's eyes were fixed on her notes now; her voice was still small and slightly trembling.

'Maybe he didn't know if he could ever return...to the flat.' Sherlock said through his teeth now openly staring at her. Molly gulped, looking at him with wide eyes.

'Still he should have left a note or something. If he wanted...the flat back,' Molly held her opinion but didn't look up. Sherlock noticed that the pen was shaking in her hand.

Now it was his turn to strike back. 'Probably he didn't suppose that the flat would have a new, permanent tenant so soon?'

'Excuse me. Are we still talking about my case?' The lady was uncomfortably tumbling in her seat.

Sherlock turned towards the lady. 'Your tenant hasn't got in touch for six month, didn't need his personal stuff and documents, he most likely was murdered months ago. Contact the police. Good day.' With this he stood up and opened the door for the stunned lady with a wide, fake smile.

'But Sherlock this is a murder case,' Molly objected whispering the words with wide eyes, happily changing the subject to the case.

'Yes, yes. Lestrade will find me with this one, I am certain.' He said grabbing his coat and scarf. 'We're going out. Get your coat.'

The mood at the scene on the basement with the fake skeleton was still chilly. Neither of them spoke unless it was necessary, and then everybody was so polite. Even Lestrade sensed that something was off. Sherlock now doubted this whole let's-solve-cases-together was a good idea, and Molly felt herself quite out of place, sometimes even under his feet.

By the time they arrived at Sillcott's flat they both felt pretty bad. But a small cheeky smile Molly gave to him as they heard the client's doorbell's 'Mind the gap', Sherlock felt his heart suddenly light up, smile and hope spreading.

There was something, definitely. Molly was smiling at him a lot, they had conversation without words, Sherlock's confidence was slowly back. Therefore he was so taken aback when Molly's answer for his open dinner invitation was not a quick and enthusiastic yes. Instead she questioned his motives, nervously fidgeting with that bloody ring. She started to sputter about her extremely normal boyfriend. Fiancé. That was the moment when Sherlock suddenly realised that he wasn't the one who Molly wanted to end up with. She needed somebody stable, calm, normal, ordinary. Somebody who was not an erratic, changeable, awkward sociopath. Somebody who was not him.

Molly felt his unspoken question, but she decided not to answer it. If he wanted anything else than her not belong to anybody else he should have said it. Get the courage and express it. But he remained silent, so she didn't let him ruin everything again.

Sherlock felt a clench in his stomach, heaviness on his chest, but he smiled for her and let her go with a last lingering kiss on her cheek.

It was over. With a deep, shaking breath he knotted his scarf as he stepped outside into cold late winter evening.

* * *

Life went back to be pretty normal. As normal it could be. Only Sherlock spent significantly less time in Bart's than before. Of course nobody noticed this except Molly, but she didn't know what to think about it. She was quite content with her life, Tom was sweet, seemed to be a perfect husband material. She had long given up the dream of marrying to the love of her life and living happily ever after for so long. It simply wasn't just how life worked. And she finally was okay with that.

However John and Mary's wedding changed everything. Tom behaved like an idiot, Sherlock was horrible and wonderful and adorable, the maid of honour was hot and Molly was jelous as hell. The moment she caught herself stab Tom on the hand with a fork she knew it was ridiculous that she had ever thought she could love anybody else then Sherlock. She continued the night pretending to be a happy soon-to-bride, but after a long cab ride to Tom's flat she broke up with him. It was sort, simple and didn't surprise him at all.

'Tom, I...uhm. I think we shouldn't get married.' She spoke without taking off her coat, standing in the doorway.

Tom turned with a grimace, freezing in the movement of pulling out his tie, his mouth flinched, and then he nodded. 'I agree.'

He held his back straight but his eyes became red and he swallowed hard.

Molly stepped closer and reached towards his shoulder. 'Tom...I'm sorry!' Her throat was clenched by the upcoming crying too.

Tom shook his head. 'I'm fine.' He held his hand up to stop her. 'I am fine. I've been expecting this, really. To be honest, sooner... since he appeared.'

They were standing in an awkward silence for minutes. Molly did't want to deny the obvious.

The heavy weight of the irreversible words was getting unbearable. The routine as they used to kiss goodbye suddenly became inappropriate, a far memory, nothing else. They were not belonged together anymore; the world has turned upside down for good.

Molly took off the engagement ring with trembling fingers and with a gulp she put it down on the coffee table. Tom watched her silently and let her go with a tight and sad smile.

This was the short end of Molly's short engagement.

For the next month Molly was prepared every day to meet Sherlock who would definitely notice the lack of her ring and make a mocking comment. Every day she prepared with witty, cutting, ignorant or sometimes defensive answers. But he didn't show up. Not until that day.

Sherlock was practically dragged by John into the lab in a state she had never seen him in. The moment she looked into his eyes she knew. It wasn't even necessary to do the test; she just wanted to know how much he had taken.

It was the drug usage what made her to slap him for the first two times, the third was for the bloody puppy eyes which he wanted to manipulate her with. Again.

He stood all the three slaps. He knew he deserved each one of them. And inside he was laughing hysterically on that the day he cut himself off from her for good, it turned out that not all hope had been lost. He was so screwed up he couldn't hold back to hurt her with his hurting words.

She didn't want to allow herself to be humiliated or hurt by his comment. But she slipped back far too quickly into the role of the concerned woman in love. Always in love. Honestly? Sometimes even she was made sick by how he could do anything and she would still love him and equilibrate on front of that thin line which separated her from begging him, whining on her knees to requite it.

When Sherlock was shot, all Molly could do to stay on her feet was repeating constantly some pray to a God she had never believed in for keeping Sherlock alive. She was dizzy and nausea neared her in every half an hour. Her work seemed to be a bit of distraction but at the end of her night shift she couldn't wait to drop off her lab coat and run upstairs to see him to be alive, to breathe.

As she got out from the lift and quickly walked towards the A&amp;E, nervously biting her nails, she was thinking over her speech to him again. She was rehearsing it during the whole day. She wanted to tell him how much she was sorry for the slaps, which he deserved by the way, but she always wanted to stand by him and she would love him and care for him, no matter what happened and how he felt. She finally got to that point where she didn't want anything just him being alive.

And then she stopped. She saw three people waiting outside Sherlock's room happily chatting. John and Mary of course... and the bridesmaid. Molly felt her blood running out of her limbs as she was watching them.

_What am I doing here?_

She gulped as she tried to blink the tears away from her eyes. At least he was okay, they looked happy. It was the most important, wasn't it?

**Hi, dears,**

**Well this was a longer one. Just because I can't wait to show you ch11 and 12. **

**Thank you for all your kind, supporting and thoughtful reviews. They always make me happy. It's really nice to know what you think. **


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock replayed the scene of Magnussen's murder probably the hundredth time in his head. Ninety-seventh, to be precise. There was nothing he would have done different. He didn't regret it. He had made a mistake. Not when he pulled the trigger but when he underestimated him. He was so occupied with his own brilliance when that bastard was just playing with him. He made a horribly big mistake and he knew he would have to pay for it. Apparently with his own life, sooner or later.

He had been in custody for two days when Mycroft finally came to him with an offer. He couldn't decline it this time. Going to prison would have either meant the end of him by criminals he had put there or if he survived somehow, boredom would do the job and he would definitely lost his mind. So his brother's idea, despite common opinion, was quite merciful. There was only one last thing had to be arranged. One last favour to ask Mycroft.

Sherlock was sitting on the toloused bed in his almost empty cell. His elbows on his knees, his head hanging between his shoulders, his feet drumming on the grey concrete floor. A cigarette was spinning among his fingers, his last one. He didn't want to waist it. It would be needed when Mycroft told him that he was not allowed out on his last night spent in England. Now he was waiting.

As the plain steel door opened he sprang up impatiently. Mycroft stepped in and slowly closed the door behind himself. He sighed massaging his temple before he spoke.

'Four guards will accompany you. They will watch every possible way out of the flat.' He stopped to watch his brother who already grabbed his coat and scarf. 'A car will wait for you at 6am. If you don't appear the guards will break in and will search for you. If you are not there Molly Hooper will be arrested for helping you. Is that clear?'

'You don't think I am that dumb that I try to escape, do you?'

'No, of course not, dear brother. I only interpret the council's decision. Personally I know you won't. There's no point.'

Sherlock only nodded while standing in front of Mycroft. His impatience was clear from the rhythmical clenching of his fists. The elder Holmes sighed and rolled his eyes before opening the door and let Sherlock out before himself.

The ride was too slow for Sherlock's taste. He was just looking out the window during the whole time, drumming on his knees impatiently. He was deep in his thoughts as the city's lights passed in front of his eyes and he really didn't see them. He was constantly repeating to himself what and how to say when he arrived. He had to see her for one last time. He needed it. And he didn't give a shit if it seemed sentimental.

'Are you sure it is a good idea?' Mycroft broke the silence.

Sherlock only nodded with a hum not facing him.

'What do you expect from her?'. The elder Holmes pushed.

'Nothing.' Sherlock mildly shook his head but his eyes were still on the busy street outside.

'Don't you think it would be best for everyone if...?' Mycroft continued but was interrupted by his brother.

'No. Stop this. You don't know anything about it.' He stopped frowning. 'It's about sentiment. How would you understand it?' Sherlock turned and tilted his head smiling mockingly.

Mycroft straightened himself; he sat his jaw and with his chin up looked in front of himself stiffly. Silence took its place between them once again.

'Thank you, Mycroft.' Sherlock's grave voice made him turn his head. 'Seriously, for everything. I know I've always been a charge on you. Thank you for what you've done for me.' Sherlock looked deep into his brother's eyes.

'There were good days...' Mycroft swallowed hard, his grip tightened on his umbrella, his fingers became white.

'Yes, there were.' Sherlock smiled shortly. The car drew aside and the brothers felt it to stop.

A guard opened the door for Sherlock and after a last glance at his brother he got out of the car and headed to the building where Molly was peacefully napping in her armchair not knowing anything about murders, media moguls and exiles.


	11. Chapter 11

The light knock woke Molly up from her nap. The book she'd been reading had fallen down to the floor from her hand, forgotten long ago. The only light in the room was the small reading lamp on the bedside table. Any visitor was unexpected this hour. Except one Sherlock Holmes of course, but he hadn't been there for ages, and to be honest she didn't really think that he would ever be there again. They haven't met for almost half a year, since the she slapped him. So no, it couldn't be him. He wouldn't knock just pick the lock anyway.

So Molly was more than surprised to see Sherlock through the peep hole. She took a deep breath to pull all her strength together to be able to cope with him or anything he wanted. She tightened her ponytail, straightened her jumper and with a determined movement she opened the door.

He looked so pale and skinny and... Scared? Molly opened widely the door and silently waved him to step in. Sherlock marched into the room with determined paces and while he was taking off his coat he looked around the flat, registering every detail, every change has been made since he was there. The memories from the time he spent with Molly suddenly flooded forward. He felt tired and weak from seeing all the possibilities he had missed and would never get back. He slowly turned towards the girl, who was still standing at the front door, biting her lower lip, her arms tightly crossed around her torso trying to avoid fidgeting or biting her nails. Clearly.

Sherlock looked her up and down. Molly knew he saw her nervousness and uncertainty. She felt she had to step out of the silence so she asked shortly. 'Tea?'

Sherlock nodded and Molly left to the kitchen relieved from having time to silence her jumping heart.

She was filling the kettle when she heard him.

'Molly...uhm...I am...' Sherlock finally managed to speak but Molly didn't turn just continued to prepare their tea. 'Molly, tomorrow I am leaving England... permanently,' he hove.

The cups she held stopped in her hand for a moment. In the deep silence Sherlock was waiting for her to take the next step. He felt his hands shaking barely and hid them into his pockets with a frown. But the next second Molly went on putting all the accessories on a tray like he hadn't said anything.

'Molly,' he started again, and hesitantly reached out to touch her lower arm. Molly let herself turn towards him staring at his hand gingerly holding her arm. Sherlock pulled back his touch clearing his throat. When Molly looked up at him her cheeks were full of tears running down silently. Sherlock swallowed hard before huskily speaking.

'I am sorry.' He was blinking quickly with a frown looking down at their hand.

'For what?' Molly whispered not risking louder voice in fear of her words would come out as pitiful whimpering.

'For everything. For hurting you, for leaving you then...and now. Can you forgive me?' He was looking deep into the girl's eyes now. 'Please forgive me,' he whispered.

Molly reached up cupping his cheek with her delicate hand and he immediately answered with leaning into her touch.

'How could I not forgive you?'

A long shaky sigh broke out of Sherlock as he placed his hand onto Molly's placed on his face. He slightly turned his head and pressed a lingering kiss on her palm with tightly closed eyes. Molly sighed to the feeling of his long desired touch.

'Why do you have to leave?'

The question came as a whisper but was unavoidable, Sherlock knew it. He let down her hand but still held it strongly. He had decided long ago that Molly deserved the truth. He looked into her eyes, searching her face.

'I murdered an unarmed man, and my brother was kind enough to send me on a six months long mission to Eastern Europe than lock me into prison for uncertain time.'

Molly gasped in surprise. He was half inclined to endure her dismissing him, but instead she stepped closer and reaching up pulled him into a strong, silent hug. Sherlock reciprocated it and buried his face into the crook of her neck.

'I know you didn't have any other chance. I know,' Molly murmured into his ear, caressing the back of his head, trying to soothe down his heavy breathing.

And in that exact moment Molly realized the meaning of the six months long mission. She felt her legs weakening under her, Sherlock had to hold her, her chest became too tight as the first sob burst out of her lungs.

'Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! Please say it's not true,' she whimpered grabbing his collar burying her face into his chest. 'Please say it!' She let her tears fall not being able to contain herself anymore.

He barely could answer. He was almost unable to swallow back the tremor of his own voice.

'I'm sorry, so sorry,' he managed to say, caressing her hair with tightly closed eyes holding her strongly against him with his other arm.

Minutes had passed when she finally felt herself pulled together enough to speak.

'For how long can you stay?' she asked silently still holding him.

Sherlock tightened his arms around her.

'I have to leave the house exactly at 6 am.' He murmured into her hair.

'Then we have time.' Molly sighed with a heavy heart.

'Yes, yes, we have.' And with this Sherlock pulled away slightly to look into her eyes and finally pressed his lips to Molly's desperately. She gave into it her whole body, heart and mind. All she wanted to know about was the present and that he was there with her.

**I know, I know, you hate me. It was painful, and will be for a few more chapters. But have faith in me. **

**Thank you for your kind reviews, each one made me very happy. **

**I hope you liked it in a painful way, please let me know, what you think.**


	12. Chapter 12

The dawn's first sounds found them in the bed they had shared for so many times before. They were facing each other in the semi-darkness. Molly's one hand cupped Sherlock's cheek, the other was slowly playing with the short curls on the back of his head, while Sherlock was lazily stroking along the curves on the side of her naked body with his fingertips.

'I wish,' he started in a husky voice, 'I wish I had let you near sooner. I wish I didn't...'

'Hush,' Molly gingerly stroked along his lips with her thumb. 'I don't regret anything,' she continued and replaced her finger with her mouth, pulling herself closer to him. 'What would happen if you didn't have to leave?' she whispered against his lips like she didn't even want him to hear the question which was, indeed, followed by a long silence.

'I won't lie to you, Molly,' he started with closed eyes. Molly felt her deep breath stuck in her lungs for seconds till he continued. 'I am insufferable for most of the time. I can't keep people in close proximity for too long, not that I've ever really wanted to.' His eyes were now searching her face. 'There are exceptions, of course.' He smiled shortly. 'I would estimate our time together for a few months, a year at most. I would ruin you. And you would loathe me.' His voice broke at the end of his sentence.

Molly smiled sweetly, gently stroking away a mop of hair from his forehead. 'You underestimate me, and overestimate your ability to scare me off,' she said in a voice full of affection.

'Hmm...Possibly.' He leaned forward to bury his face in the crook of her neck. 'What would you say?' he murmured.

'I would say...' Molly started first plainly, or at least tried, but her voice broke and betrayed her. 'I would say we've proven several times that we are a good team. Hmm, in several ways too.' She felt Sherlock smile against her neck. 'I think we would last pretty long. I would want to spend the rest of my life with you.' At this point she had to stop. She felt her throat clenching and was fighting to hold back the tears. 'I would want a baby with you.' Her last words came out as a whimper. Molly was sobbing while was grabbing strongly Sherlock's shoulders. She would never give herself out like this if that wasn't their last night together. But it was, and it was her last chance to show him how loved he was, nothing else mattered.

Sherlock kissed her temple and caressed the back of her head following along her silky hair. 'You would want a baby with me?' In his voice there was honest surprise and emotion.

Molly pushed away slightly to look into his eyes. Her face was serious and determined. 'Yes, I do want a baby with you. I will never love anybody else the way I love you. If I ever want anybody's child, it's yours.'

'You mean...?' Sherlock frowned questioningly.

'Yes.' Molly quickly nodded with wide eyes searching his face for any sign.

Sherlock slowly turned to lay on his back staring at the ceiling. His left arm was still resting under Molly's head and he was absently drawing circles on her bare shoulder.

This was something he had never thought over before properly. He had never even pondered on the possibility that anybody would want a child from him. He knew exactly how most people saw him and he happily came up to their expectations. Cold headed, insensitive, rude machine. Though there were a few who sneaked under his shell, and neither of them had intention to leave. Still, the most amazing among them was Molly, because unlike the others, he did everything to make her go. But she stayed and waited, waited for him to come on the long way to her.

He turned back to face Molly, his hand reaching her cheek gently.

'Molly, you do understand that you would be alone in this, don't you? There is no possibility that I ever return.' Sherlock spoke clearly. There was no place for lies and pretence between them anymore.

Molly nodded decidedly and whispered 'Would you want to have a child with me?'

He looked deeply into her eyes with his heart beating faster. 'I want to give you anything you want.' Sherlock leaned forward to kiss Molly but she stopped him raising her hand and touched his lips with a serious expression.

'No, Sherlock. I want this only if you do too. I don't want you to feel entrapped or tricked somehow.' She shook her head as an affirmation of her words.

'Molly, I haven't done so much good in my subsistence, but giving an opportunity to a new life to be your child, to have a caring, loving and brilliant mother like you, would be one of them.'

Sherlock finally closed the gap between them and kissed Molly's tears away.

Later when they were both balancing on the thin line between sleeping and being awake Sherlock was hugging Molly tightly, her head resting on his chest.

'Promise to wake me up if I fall sleep. Promise!' she murmured against his skin.

'I will wake you,' he answered and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

When the time came Sherlock did indeed woke Molly up. They had a shower together, using all the time remained for them. After dressing silently, steeling short touches and kisses they were standing tensely in front of each other at the front door.

'Are you sure you don't want me to come?' Molly asked carefully. She felt like crying but didn't have any more tears.

'Yes. John and Mary will be there.' Sherlock looked at the ceiling with his red eyes trying to pull himself together. 'I really don't want him to be jealous.'

Molly sobbed out a chuckle as Sherlock winked at her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Then Molly's expression suddenly became serious. 'Oh, God! He doesn't know, does he?'

'N-no.' Sherlock swallowed hard, shaking his head.

When his mobile rang at exactly six o'clock Molly gasped and threw herself into Sherlock's arms. Her mouth immediately found his for a last loving kiss.

Sherlock pushed her away gingerly and looked at her, like he saw her for the first time, wanting to remember every detail of her.

'Good bye, Molly Hooper.' Sherlock felt his voice weak, not trustable at all. He then turned and walked out the door without looking back, leaving his Molly behind.

**Hi, dears,**

**First of all, thank you for the kind words and impatience. These are the things which make me write. (:**

**In my profession we have an absolute truth. Amateurs need inspiration, professionals need deadline. ;) (Not that I think I am professional in writing but I certainly got used to this kind of working method.)**

**I know it was a relatively long wait, so sorry for this. To be honest most of the chapters were written weeks ago but now I am only one chapter ahead of you. And I need to check them for a few times. **

**So I hope you liked this one in a painful way. Let me know.**


	13. Chapter 13

'Who needs me this time?'

'England.' Mycroft sighed.

'What happened?' Sherlock frowned as he felt that the plane slowly changed direction.

'James Moriarty is back.' Mycroft's voice was dark as he enunciated the name of the consulting criminal. Sherlock would have made a mocking comment about his brother being dramatic again, if his first thought hadn't been his not long ago left pathologist.

'Molly...' he barely breathed out. 'Take Molly to a safe place! He will be after her. Everything else can be dealt with later.'

Mycroft, knowing that any delay could be catastrophic, if it was not too late already, made two quick phone calls before his brother's plane landed, ending his four minutes long exile for good.

As soon as the plane stopped, Sherlock practically lashed out of it, ran down the stairs to get in the car was waiting for him with Mycroft, John and Mycroft in it.

'Details,' Sherlock barked at his brother as the car started.

...

Molly barely woke up from the horror seeing Jim on the screen in her lab when the door pushed open and three armed men in black suit stormed in and grabbed her by her arms and pulled her out of the room.

'Wha...?' She swallowed trying to pull together her thoughts slightly shaking her head. 'Who are you? Let me go!' she screamed and tried to tear herself out of their grip but the basement was so empty, nobody could hear her.

'Please forgive us for the inconvenient surprise, Miss Hooper. Our order was to take you out as quickly as it's possible. There's no time to explain it now.' The man at her right arm spoke fast while he was watchfully searching the corridor they were practically running. Molly's feet barely touched the ground. Everything happened so quickly. Her horror increased when she noticed a gun in his other hand. As she glanced at the other two men she saw that they all have a gun in hand, holding it ready to fire if necessary.

Molly finally found her voice as she was dragged through the back door and carried towards a black car. 'Who are you? What do you want from me?' she exclaimed. 'Let me go!'

But there was no answer from the men..

'Please, get in, Miss Hooper.' asked the first man a bit too politely to be a kidnapper but slightly pushed her into the car. She was ready to scream when a woman's face appeared looking at her from the car with a genuine smile.

'Uhm...Hi?' Molly frowned in confusion.

'Get in. We don't have much time.' The woman hurried her in.

Molly stopped for a moment, but realized that she didn't really have other choice so she quickly climbed into the car.

As she was getting inside the door was closed behind her and her companion handed Molly a phone. She took it suspiciously and held it to her ear. 'Hallo?'

'Doctor Hooper,' though they have met only a few times, Molly immediately recognised Mycroft Holmes' voice. She sighed in relief as he continued, 'Please forgive me for the rough method. Time is essential in this matter. You will be transported to a safe place. Any further information can be given by Anthea. Good day, Doctor Hooper.' Before Molly could answer anything the line went dead.

'Seriously? I would easily come by myself if I knew they were Mycroft's men.' Molly frowned questioningly at the woman next to her.

'You wouldn't believe them, and there was no time to have a chat and show around everyone's ID-s.' Anthea shrugged and started to occupy herself with her phone.

Her first thought right after digesting the current situation was the man who she parted from only a few hours before.

'Where is Sherlock? Is he all right?' Her voice was so concerned that even Anthea looked up from her phone with a tight smile.

'Yes. He's fine. He returned to handle this...hmm... situation.'

'Are we going to see him?' Molly asked enthusiastically, hiding her blush by turning slightly away from the other woman looking down at her fidgeting hands.

Anthea shook her head with an amused smile. 'No,' and she turned his attention back to her phone.

'Was it really him on the screens?' Molly asked trying to cover the trembling in her voice by clearing her throat.

'Not confirmed yet.' Anthe answered without looking up at her.

Molly not wanting to interrupt the other woman again leaned back in the her seat uncomfortably. Though she had several questions, but she knew that Anthea was not the one who she should ask.

When Sherlock, Mycroft and the Watsons arrived at Baker Street, Lestrade's car was already there, parking in the street. As they made their way upstairs they found the DI and the landlady still sitting on the coach. The DI was gently wrapped his arms around the landlady's shoulder trying to shoot her. They both looked up at the newcomers with relief; Mrs Hudson was still clenching the hover's tube, her eyes full of tears.

'So you saw it then?' asked Greg standing up, leaving the elderly woman to Mary's care.

'Obviously,' Mycroft answered shortly as his younger brother marched in to sit down into his armchair and put his hands together under his chin, staring in front of himself.

While Mycroft was hissing orders to Lestrade and made a few phone calls, John sat down in front of Sherlock hoping to get something out of him about their next move. After ten minutes glancing at his friend a sudden thought came into his mind.

'Wait, where is Molly? Everybody is here, but where is Molly Hooper?' John now was staring at Sherlock with an angry frown. The detective hardly showed any interest in John's question, he only blinked once towards him but didn't say a world. 'Bloody hell, Sherlock! She saved your life, she helped you to trick Moriarty. She is possibly in bigger danger than the rest of us.' John hissed furiously trying to hold down his voice for the sake of the others. When he felt his wife's hand on his shoulder he snapped at her. 'What?'

'John, come and help me to make some tea.'

The doctor frowned in confusion. His wife wants him to prepare tea when Molly's life is probably at risk? 'What?'

'John, I said come.' Mary pushed her words and was smiling but not with her warm and lovely one. No. It was the do-as-I-say smile. So John understood that tea was the least important thing to do in the kitchen. He sprang up, still fuming and followed her wife.

When they stood next to the counter and Mary started to fill the kettle, she begin to whisper.

'I overheard Mycroft talking to Molly on the phone. I thing they take her to a safe house somewhere.'

'Oh, thank God. Though I don't understand why the git, over there doesn't show any interest in Molly's safety.'

'I wouldn't say that. Look!' Mary wagged her head indicating to her husband to look at the detective's direction, who was absently fishing out a pack of cigarette from under his armchair, still gazing ahead, and with shaking hands he was trying to light one of them. He managed after failing three times not being able to control the shudder.

'Jesus.' John gulped and turned back towards his wife.

'When we went to the airport, and Mycroft and Sherlock picked us up early in this morning, he didn't have his bag with him. Another car brought it there. Do you remember? Thus he didn't spend the night in his cell. Hm?' Mary stopped with wide eyes looking at John questioningly.

'You don't mean that he was...?'

'Oh, yes, I do.' Mary nodded emphatically.

'Dear God. This doesn't make things easier.' John sighed and buried his grimacing face into his palm. If Moriarty knew about them then Molly was in bigger danger than John had thought. Seeing Sherlock's state hurting Molly would be one effective way to crack him up for good.

**Hi dearests,**

**I know it was almost a week. My only explanation is that i had a shitty days. **

**The only sunsine in my life were your reviews, and seeing that there are quite a lot newcomers, who enjoy this story. **

**About future plans: I don't intend to go into the Moriarty thing too much, it is still mainly a romantic story, but I had to put them into this situation.**

**The best thing in writing fanfiction, that you really don't have to meet any expectations. You just write what you want, and have fun with it. And when there are others who like it, it's just the whipcream on the cake. **

**So, hopefully next chapter will be up sooner. **

**Be good till next time. **


	14. Chapter 14

The small private helicopter landed silently far enough from the small Scottish village short after 1 am. Molly tiredly climbed out of it fallowing Anthea, who was probably just as fatigued as she was, but showed no sign of it.

Molly was still in her lab coat she had been taken in from the lab, so she pulled it closer around herself as they forced themselves through the woods, which, according to Anthea, separated them from a small private cottage she would have to stay till it was safe for her to return to London. When she heard the helicopter departing she doubled her steps to reach the other woman, which was quite a serious challenge; she was moving elegantly like a cat among the trees and bushes despite her high heels and long cloak.

'Hey, wait!' Molly tried to catch her breath. 'The helicopter went away. How will you go back?'

'I won't. I'll stay with you.' She winced. 'Direct order.'

Molly only nodded. She couldn't tell if Anthea disliked her, or to stay at all.

The other saw the hurt on her face and continued with a sigh and rolled her eyes. 'Look, I don't have any problem with you but I'm an agent, not a baby sitter. I am not used to sit and wait.'

'It's okay, It's fine.' Molly smiled weakly at her companion and continued to walk beside her.

...

Ten days passed and the investigation hadn't moved much. The source of the broadcast was found at a main cable television broadcasting company, but the man who was bribed to do it didn't know anything, he swore crying it had been only a voice on the phone and money on his bank account.

There was no further sign of Moriarty personally, though there were three explosions on places could be definitely connected to him. And to Sherlock too. The old swimming pool they had met the second time, the wing of the building where the cabbie had almost made Sherlock to take the pill, and there was a minor explosion in Saint Bart's basement, destroying only the lab. After the last one Sherlock was raging. When they returned to Baker Street he mutely broke and crushed everything what was in his way. When he finally stopped, he straightened his jacket and with straight face, stepping over the broken furniture started to examine the extensive web he had created of photos and notes on the wall above the couch. John had never seen him like that, he was just standing there and let his friend release a bit of the anger and anxiety he had suppressed in the past days. Moriarty's message was clear.

Sherlock gained back his own old, cold-blooded self quite quickly, though John didn't complain at all, knowing that this was the only way his friend could cope with the danger was threatening Molly. He had to solve this case first. And then other matters could come forward.

Sherlock was frantically pacing up and down in his living room ruffling his hair in annoyance. He was muttering under his breath.

'This seems to be too simple. Maybe it's not him, or it was only some spectacle for us to draw off our attention from something else, something bigger, or...'

'Or he just wanted you back in the country to have his playmate back for his sick games.'

Sherlock silently nodded.

'Ahh, okay then. So let's assume that it's Moriarty and he just wants you back on the field.'

'Assuming is hardly enough, John.'

John sighed since all they could do was suppose everything, till any further sign they were hopeless.

'Sooo, let's talk about Molly. Do you think he is really after her?' John gulped as he came up with the topic. The last days they were just dancing around it. He didn't want to upset Sherlock more. He was already a walking chimney, anyway.

'Likely.' The detective started to fidget obviously craving for a smoke.

'Sherlock, is there anything you want to tell me?' John looked at his friend expectantly.

But Sherlock face hardened and without looking at the doctor answered coldly. 'Nothing that you already don't know. Don't play dumb with me, John!'

Familiar steps on the stairs distracted both of their attention. Mycroft entered the flat, he looked tired and pale, he even seemed to lost weight.

'Mycroft, any news?' John sprung up to meet the older Holmes. Sherlock was just standing in front of the large window, eyeing the two of them.

Mycroft barely cared about formalities and he ungracefully flopped down on the coach without greetings. He loudly blew out a long sigh through his nostrils as he tilted his head back to rest it on the sofa's back with closed eyes.

'The body we had exhumed was not Moriarty's. And there was a note next to it.' Mycroft dipped into his pockets to fish out an evident bag and handed it to Sherlock. He took it slowly, looking at his brother questioningly, who only nodded.

As the detective opened the folded paper and as he was reading it he became as pale as a the paper itself.

'What? What's on it?' John looked from one to the other expectantly. Sherlock handed him the note to read it himself.

_Come and get me before I get your precious girls and the little one! The game is on._

'Jesus, Sherlock.' John looked at her friend with rue in his eyes.' But why the... little one?' He lowered his voice in concern. 'Sherlock, is there any possibility that Molly is...khm...pregnant?' John decided not to walk on tiptoes anymore around the topic.

Sherlock gulped and slightly nodded. Mycroft seeing his brother's reaction buried his face into his palm.

'Give me your phone, Mycroft.' Sherlock reached out towards his brother.

'No, it's not safe.' He objected shaking his head.

'If anything is safe, that is. Give me your bloody phone!' Sherlock hissed through his teeth.

Mycroft reluctantly put his phone into his brother's hand and leaned back with his chin up. Sherlock dialled and put the phone to his ear eyeing her brother with narrow eyes.

'Anthea! Give the phone to Molly,' he said in a sharp voice. After a short wait his face brightened up a bit and his voice became gentler. 'Molly!' He sighed. ' Please answer this question honestly and shortly. Are you pregnant?' His question was followed by a long silence at the other end of the line.

...

Molly was making some herbal tea in the kitchen when Anthea appeared in the doorway and handed her a phone silently. The two women became quite used to each other. Anthea relaxed a bit accepting her current mission and Molly started to see under the cold and professional mask the other woman was wearing almost all the time.

She slowly lifted the phone to her ear with a frown. 'Hallo?' The voice on the on the other end of the line made her blush, her heart beat quicker. 'Sherlock,' she gasped. She had been waiting for hearing his voice, or get any kind of sign from him since she got into the black car behind Bart's. She knew it wasn't safe to get in touch with anybody from outside. So she was waiting patiently and silently for this whole nightmare to end.

Though the quick, and quite cold question surprised her. She had been thinking about having this conversation with Sherlock for two days now, but had never thought that it would be...this short. Molly really couldn't tell what answer he would be more pleased with. So she closed her eyes tightly in agitation and took a deep breath.

**Hi, Dearies,**

**I have to tell I was so happy reading your reviews. Thank you, thank you , thank you! **

**I can barely keep open my eyes, I just wanted to update so much. So I am off to bed. I hope you enjoyed, let me know. 'Good night' for us, who are going to sleep and 'have a nice day' to the others. **


	15. Chapter 15

_'Molly!' He sighed. 'Please answer this question honestly and shortly. Are you pregnant?' His question was followed by a long silence at the other end of the line._

'No, Sherlock, I am not, and I am sure.'

After a short pause Molly heard Sherlock's reaction. 'I thought so. We'll talk later.'

Molly really didn't know if she should laugh or cry at his words when he ended the call. He couldn't be more neutral.

Anthea entered the kitchen and poured a mug of tea for herself. 'So?'

Molly flopped down on the chair and sighed burying her face into her palms with her elbows on the table.

As Sherlock ended the call he lowered the phone slowly and looked up at Mycroft with one raised eyebrow. From the corner of his eye he saw John shaking his head disapprovingly but he didn't care.

'Mycroft, is there...'

The elder Holmes lifted his eyes at his brother with a stunned expression. His face became paler; horror took its place in his eyes as Sherlock continued.

'...any possibility that Anthea is pregnant?'

A minute had passed filled with heavy silence when Mycroft finally whispered his answer, 'Yes.'

'Sorry, what did you say?' Sherlock stepped closer eyeing his brother, an ironic smile dancing on the corner of his lips.

'Sherlock,' John warned his friend, standing tensed and uncomfortably. 'This is really not the time for...'

But Mycroft took a deep breath before he repeated his answer. 'Yes, there is,' he said louder this time. He sat sunk in himself while he nervously combed his hair back.

Sherlock pursed his lips and resisted the urge to throw at his brother such nice things as he had gotten from him after the night he had left Molly's flat. He was examining Mycroft for a bit longer than sassily span the phone in the air. 'I'll need this for a while. Till then, I suggest you to digest the news, dear brother.' With that he whirled out of the living room and shut his bedroom's door behind him.

'So-oo? If I am not mistaken congratulations are in order.' John stood still looking at Mycroft with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

'Oh, shut up, John!' Mycroft grimaced rolling his eyes.

...

As Molly and Anthea were sitting in the kitchen the phone rang again. The taller woman picked it up eagerly but instead of speaking she handed the device to her companion and left the room with a frown. Molly saw the disappointment on her face as she lifted the phone.

'Hallo?'

'Hello Molly.' Even though she knew it was him, her heart started to beat faster hearing Sherlock's voice again.

'Hello. How are you?'

'I'm fine, I'm fine.' He sounded distracted. 'Listen, Molly. The thing we were talking about previously...'

'It's fine, Sherlock. This really is not the right time.'

'No, is it?' Molly heard him taking a huge gulp from his cigarette. 'Molly.' He gulped searching for the right words. 'If we both end up alive...then you have to know that...nothing has changed since...'

'Oh, thank you, I mean...I mean for telling me this. I uhm...'Molly was uncertain about to say out loud how she felt but took a deep breath and sputtered it, 'I love you.'

After a short silence he sighed. 'I know, Molly, I know.' Molly smiled weakly and hummed at his answer. 'This is keeping me alive constantly.'

This was all Molly needed to hear. Her smile widened. 'I hope so.' Her voice darkened as she spoke further, 'Sherlock, how did he do it? He was dead.'

'Apparently as dead as I was,' Sherlock murmured.

Molly stayed silent and just was listening to him breathing. She closed her eyes and imagined him being beside her.

'Listen, Molly. Things turned as we have to cut things short to end this sick game of Moriarty as soon as possible. I have a plan, it's not without danger, but I will do everything in my power to protect you. Broadly speaking...'

'Okay.' Molly hove immediately.

'I haven't ...even unfolded my plan.' Sherlock said slowly with a little confusion.

'I trust you, Sherlock. I trust you with my life,' she explained seriously. Silence followed her words. 'Sherlock? What's the plan?'

'Ah, yes, the plan.' His voice was husky and he sounded like he had just returned from deep thoughts. 'I'm going to use you as bait. He is searching for you. I will leave him crumbs to find you and when he does I will be there along with Mycroft's men and just before he could strike we catch him.'

'Oh, yes, this sounds logical. But what if he knows it's a trap?' asked Molly.

'He won't. We will be very careful.'

'All right.' Molly hesitated before she asked, 'Sherlock, what happened that this is so urgent all of a sudden?'

'Moriarty had left us a message. He wrote he would get our girls and the little one.'

'Oh, but I'm not...oh. Oooh.' Sherlock heard the recognition and the surprise in her voice.

'Well, yes.' He cleared his throat.

'Oh, okay then. Just...just let me know what I have to do.' Molly took a deep breath and pulled together all her strength and bravery. She was scared to death of the thought that the madman could lay a hand on her but she knew that if she ever wanted a life at least slightly close to normal then she had to do this.

'I'll call you soon from my own phone. It's probably bugged, so...'

'No world about the bait thing.'

'Exactly.' Sherlock sighed. 'We'll talk later.'

'Sherlock!' He almost ended the call when he heard her.

'Yes?'

'Do you think that... that after this you... I mean, you won't have to leave, will you?'

Sherlock was silent for so long that Molly thought he had put down the phone, but when he finally talked his voice was quiet and low. 'We have to deal with this first, don't we?'

'Yes, we do.' Molly agreed weakly.

'Let's talk later.'

'Okay.' Molly nodded to herself and felt tears rolling down her cheeks as she swallowed back a sob.

Sherlock pulled the phone away from his ear sinking deep into his thoughts. His plan was risky, he knew but he didn't have any other option. The consulting criminal was as good as him, if not better, if he wanted to be honest to himself. So he had to play out a card Moriarty would never think he would play out. Molly Hooper.

...

Mycroft and John were sitting silently in the living room when Sherlock entered.

'We have to end this as soon as possible.' Mycroft rose from the couch as he saw his brother.

'I agree.' Sherlock nodded.

'I'll have all my agents to search for him, every policeman, every soldier in the country,' Mycroft declared, trying to look calm, decidedly reaching out for his phone towards Sherlock who quickly pulled back the device to his chest with his chin up.

'No.' He shook his head. 'I've never thought that I would ever say this but you are too...involved. You've already made a horrible mistake when you sent Anthea away with Molly to protect her.' Sherlock glared severely at the other. 'I will say what we are going to do.'

The staring contest between the brothers ended when Mycroft dropped his hand and sighed in surrender.

**Hi Dearests, **

**Sorry for the long wait again. My crazy days are still not over apparently. Thanks for all your kind words and interest in this story. I still love to write it, I hope it will be able to stay interesting for you through the next chapters. I plan to write 2 or 3 more chapters till the end. So thanks for everything. A question: Which is better? To read shorter chapters more frequently or longer ones occasionally? Be well till next time. Hopefully sooner. **

**Lanceletta**


	16. Chapter 16

**Dear Readers, thank you for your patience and support. And of course I'm sorry for the late update. Life is incredibly busy for me now. **

**I am so happy for reading every review or notice every follow and favourite. Thank you for them again.**

**Dear Oswin, ****Wheezzy8, ****and Guest, I couldn't pm you back, but thanks for your enthusiasm. It warmed my heart.**

**So here is the next one, prepare for battle with their hearts and with tactic as well.**

**I hope, you will enjoy it. Let me know.**

After Sherlock elaborated his plan to Mycroft and John, the doctor grimaced in disapprobation.

'Moriarty is far from stupid, he will know that it's a trap.'

'Of course he will.' Both Holmes said simultaneously.

'Then what...?' John shrugged uncomprehendingly, looking from one to the other.

'He obviously will know but the temptation will be too strong to resist. Humiliate and beat me and Mycroft and take revenge on Molly at the same time; he won't miss this opportunity. Though we really have to be careful. We have to make him believe that our plan failed and things slid from our hands. 'Sherlock explained while Mycroft nodded thoughtfully.

John was nothing but unsatisfied with the plan. 'Did Molly agree? It's really dangerous.'

'I...uhm...I explained to her the plan. Partly.' Sherlock answered plainly.

'Partly?' John slightly turned his head and narrowed his eyes. Sherlock knew what would follow this expression. A throughout going-over.

'John, I can't risk telling her the whole truth. She has to look authentic when Moriarty takes her as a hostage or something, and she is horrible in acting, as we all know well. If she breaks down, she might spoil the whole plan, so I told her half of the plan. Obviously.' Sherlock spoke easily till John interrupted him.

'Jesus, do you hear yourself? You are talking about Molly, who had been hiding your secret for two years. And you just talk about her as she was some stupid, whimpering girl who can't endure any pressure, and you leave her in the dark about your plan, which contains letting a bloody psychopath possibly abduct her. You are unbelievable. But the game is on, isn't it?' he added ironically in fury.

As John spoke with wide eyes his face became redder in anger and Mycroft saw him clenching his fists beside his body. But he also saw his brother's tensed jaw and widening nostrils. He knew him too well. 'John, may I suggest you to...'

It was all too late though. But surprisingly instead of any violent act, Sherlock calmly walked to the front door and opened it widely. 'Out.' His voice was silent but trembling from the suppressed anger.

'...shut up?' Mycroft finished the previously started sentence followed by a long sigh.

Sherlock's eyes were on John's, his expression left no doubt about his seriousness. But John didn't move, he just swallowed hard and shook his head. 'Out,' Sherlock repeated louder this time.

'No.' The doctor pursed his lips and blew out his air quickly through his nostrils, crinkling his nose.

Sherlock tilted his head clenching his jaw and slowly neared his friend. 'I don't need anybody in this situation who has even the smallest doubt in my decisions. I don't need anybody who questions my motives while I am trying to end the worst nightmare I've ever had. It's been running for years now, John.' Sherlock's face was now so close to John's that the doctor could see the veins on his forehead.' Moriarty has been trying to destroy everything has ever been dear to me, and now he has the woman I love as his main target. So if you can't shut your mouth and have faith in me, get out!' He held his gaze strictly on John's face.

John swallowed hard and whispered with a frown. 'Sorry mate, I'm so sorry. You are right. I have total faith in you.' John reached up and strongly hugged his best friend trying to assure him of his loyalty. 'Of course I have.'

Sherlock let John hug him, he only cleared his throat, but his surrounding behaviour told John what he needed to know, that he was allowed to stay and help his friend.

'If you ended this touching embrace, could we start act instead of whimper like newborn kittens, for God's sake?' Mycroft was more then impatient. Quite understandable, John thought.

'I can hug you too, you know, if you want it,' John said as the two friends parted. Sherlock snorted at Mycroft's dramatic eye-roll. Though he was right, they had the most important case to be solved.

Sherlock started to pace up and down in the room, with his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. 'Mycroft, choose one of your men. Somebody moderately trustable but with a possibility of being blackmailed. Somebody with a family, an affair, or old and ill parents. Doesn't matter. He has to be reachable but not too easily.'

...

The days in the little Scottish cottage passed miserably slowly. Waiting for something to happen, something to move them out from this maddening uncertainty was unnerving. The centres of Molly's days were Sherlock's phone calls. They became more and more frequent. Though they were awkward mingles of truth and lie.

'Hello Molly.'

'Hello.'

'How is your day?'

'Quite calm, it's actually relaxing.'

'So you are bored to death.' Sherlock chuckled.

Molly sighed. 'Yeah. I could endure some cadavers to slice up.'

'I've always loved your jokes. Do you have any particular candidate on your mind?'

Molly puffed. 'God, I so want this to end.'

'Hold on, we have the perfect plan. Mycroft's men are already on it. We hunt him down and everything will be back to normal.'

'Hmm, good, good.'

'I miss you Molly.' Sherlock said in a low voice.

Molly was taken aback. Would he really say something like that if it wasn't a kind of a fake phone call? 'I...uhm...I miss you too.' She decided it was safe enough to repeat his words.

'So, I'll call you tomorrow, right?'

'Yes. Be safe.'

'I'll try my best,' Sherlock said gently.

So these phone calls were nothing but meaningless drabbles. Molly sighed and remembered their night together without any pretending when there was no reason not to be honest about their feelings. She felt the gap between them starting to widen. Sherlock was somehow alienating himself for the sake of solving this case. Lately he didn't even call her from Mycroft's safe phone. It was easier for him this way, to keep her at a certain distance. Molly understood though she was determined to be as useful as she could when the time came.

Molly entered Anthea's room to return her phone after a light knock.

'How are you? Is the morning sickness already gone?' She asked gently.

'Mostly.' The other woman sighed, leaning back in her old comfy armchair. She saw Molly hesitantly standing around with pursed lips. 'Out with it, Molly.' A slight smile was dancing on the edge of her mouth.

Molly gulped than sputtered, 'Teach me how to shoot!'

Anthea's eyebrows lifted in surprise. She put down the book from her hand and stood up. 'To shoot?'

'Yes,' came Molly's trembling answer while she was fidgeting with the hem of her jumper.

A wide, amused smile spread on Anthea's face.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi dear Readers,**

**First of all, sorry, sorry for the long wait. Bad things happened in the last months and I was so busy with work too, which was probably the best because it helped me to survive. But I always had you in my mind, and felt bad not to continue this story. You were all so nice to me, and I want to thank you again for all your lovely reviews. Oswin, thanks for being so delightfully inpatient. **** Thanks for still being with me.**

The preparation of the whole tweak had lasted two weeks. Sherlock and John had been filmed on CCTV cameras at their frequently visited places, on streets and at Baker Street as well. The pieces were to be inserted into the regular recording while three men of Sherlock's homeless network had been carry their mobile in sync with them.

Mycroft gave closer and closer information to his chosen, mildly trustable agent about Molly and Anthea's location, pretending to trust the man with organizing a stronger surveillance on the cottage.

They knew Moriarty would see through the act, but they had to play along every little bit.

In the very moment Mycroft unfold the exact coordinates of the cottage to his agent, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson stepped through the door of the small house. As John closed the door behind himself, Anthea greeted them in the hall.

'Hello Mr Holmes, Dr Watson.' She nodded, smiling slightly putting away her handgun.

Sherlock briefly hummed as he scanned the place.

'Hello, uhm.. Anthea.' John cleared his throat. 'Uhm, if you need any medical help, or advise...' he started uncertainly.

'I'm fine, John, thank you.'

But Sherlock didn't have the chance to hear the conversation. He was already on the stairs and with long doubled paces he was on the first floor in a moment.

He opened the door of Molly's bedroom in the cottage and silently took off his Belstaff, then his jacket, put down his two guns and his phone onto the bedside table and slowly sat down beside the sleeping form of Molly.

'Wha...?' She jumped in surprise to face him as she felt the mattress lifting. 'Oh, it's you.'

'Yes.' Sherlock answered shortly on his deep baritone.

'So, it has begun.'

Sherlock nodded silently searching her face for any kind of fear or anger. But he saw neither of them. Molly's pursed lips, wide eyes and still face always told him when she was determined and certain.

'Good.' She sighed deeply closing her eyes for a moment.

They were looking at each other for a while when Sherlock broke the silence in a husky voice gesturing towards the duvet. 'May I...?'

'Yes, of course, of course.' Molly lifted the cover to let him in. First he carefully climbed under it keeping a proper distance from her. They were lying on their sides facing each other. When Molly reached out to gently stroke his upper arm with a warm encouraging smile, he suddenly nestled as close as he could and embraced her tightly, followed by a sigh of relief.

'Molly,' he whispered against her hair closing his eyes.

Molly smiled happily. 'I missed you so much,' she admitted burying her fingers in his dark curls while Sherlock's tension was slowly decreased. They remained silently cuddling.

'So, everything is settled then? According to your plan?' Molly asked after clearing her throat in an intentionally steady voice.

'Hmm.' Sherlock nodded. His brain had already been going through every possible scenario and he was prepared. And yet he still had that trembling feeling in his chest and stomach when he thought about rushing Molly into danger. Moriarty was obsessive and being that, calculable. But despite every logical reasoning the fear was there. Under his skin. Now he understood the real disadvantage of caring and that his brother had known it all too well for so long.

Her light stroke on his cheek stopped the train of his thoughts.

'I didn't regret anything, no matter how this whole thing ends,' she whispered. 'You have to keep this in mind.'

Her smile was weak though the warmth of it made him feel so surrounded by her love that he blurted out without thinking. 'I love you.'

Molly's smile widened as she nuzzled closer to his neck. 'I know.'

Despite the upcoming danger and all the uncertainty of their future Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle. 'Of course, you know,' he said pulling her closer to him.

After Molly went back to sleep in his arms Sherlock carefully left the bed and put his accessories back on. He wanted to be ready by the time his arch enemy arrived. He sat down into the old armchair standing in the corner of the room and put his hands steeple under his chin. He was watching at the sleeping woman under the duvet and was wondering that if there was anything he wouldn't do for her. In the end nothing seemed more valuable than her life, not even his own.

He was bitterly digesting the thought of being a big disgustingly romantic hero when he heard what he was waiting for. The sound of the shutting door of a car. The blood froze in his veins; he felt the adrenalin flooding his brain, the rest of the world disappeared. There was only one problem, one person in the whole universe. His mind automatically pushed forward every piece of information about Moriarty, his senses became so sharp he could practically could smell the other's scent. Like a hunter perceives another one searching the same prey.

He shrugged, turned up the collar of his coat and stood up stretching his muscles preparing to battle.

The noise disturbed Molly's sleep and she immediately jumped out of the bed but Sherlock stopped her.

'Stay. Pretend to be asleep!' His words were cutting and cold.

As Molly looked into his eyes she could see that the human behind them took one step back and let the hunting machine forward. She gasped in surprise, but silently nodded and climbed back into the bed. She knew him and trusted him. That was all she needed.

'I love you,' she whispered looking at the back of Sherlock not even expect him to hear it. But he stopped for a moment in the doorway and dropped his head with a heavy sigh.

'I know.' His voice was barely audible but Molly smiled halfheartedly and closed her eyes strongly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi, Dears,**

**Thank you for still reading. Originally I planned to update more frequent this story, but you know, life...**

**So thank you for again your kind words and encouragement. I really means a lot. I am so happy that I am connected in a way to such nice and generous people. Thank you.**

**I want to thank especially to my dear friend Succi, who is always there and has something deep and attentive to say. And Oswin, you made me smile every time. Thanks, I wish I could pm back to you. ;)**

**So this is a longer one, because you deserve it. I hope you'll enjoy it.**

As Sherlock left the small, comfy bedroom, things sped up. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard a large thump and John's objecting moan. The detective doubled his pace on the old teak steppes.

Now, there was no turn back from the plan. He knew he risked a lot. Everything had to be precise and foreseen.

He entered the living room with a stoned calm expression on his face though it was the very opposition of how his mind was on the rampage. As he observed the room with narrowed eyes, storing every information about the people and the object, he found John lying on the floor with one gun at his temple, breathing heavily. The other henchman was restraining Anthea by her hair and was holding a gun against her head. She was kneeling on the worn carpet next to the mantle with a bruise on her left cheek and a short cut above her eye.

'Sorry Sherlock, 'the detective heard John saying in a husky, broken voice as he noticed his friend.

'Honey, I'm home.' The figure standing next to the window, showing his back laughed. 'Now tell me you didn't miss me.' Moriarty turned to face the detective with a wide smile. His body was tensed but his eyes were fleshing.

'I didn't miss you,' Sherlock shrugged and said slowly in a flat voice with one raised eyebrow pacing towards the middle of the room never taking his eyes off his enemy.

'Aah-ha-haa. Of course you didn't miss me.' Moriarty turned towards the room with a large grin. 'You are playing on mature field now, don't you? Former CIA agents, politics, guns, murder,' he emphasized the last word.' Oh and yes, let's not forget sex. Our mousy pathologist is quite an enthusiastic one, isn't she?' Sherlock stood there still not saying a world. He had to stay calm, he knew but he knew it wouldn't be easy.

'Isn't she?' The madman now shouted. 'Answer me!' He strode into the middle of the room close to Sherlock, and took out his gun to point at John's skull. 'Answer. Me.' He hissed.

Sherlock swallowed hard. His eyes flickered to his friend's and he saw his fear. The same fear he felt, not for himself but for the ones who were dear to him. He slowly opened his mouth and whispered,. 'Yes.'

'Sorry, I didn't hear you clear.' Moriarty frowned at Sherlock pushing the gun behind John's ears so strong the army doctor groaned.

'Yes, yes she is,' he exclaimed stepping forward slightly lifting his hand in objection.

'Now there, it's better.' Moriarty straightened, and walked around the detective gesticulating widely with the gun. 'You know I was thinking. Where is the trap? Your brother practically sends me the location of this place, you are waiting for me not properly prepared, and clearly not with enough help. So tell me, where is the trap?'

Sherlock looked deep into his enemy's eyes and spoke slowly and firmly. 'There's no trap. I'm here to surrender. You want me, don't you?' He narrowed his eyes as he was observing the other.

John stirred. 'What? No, Sherlock don't...oh my God,' he whispered swooningly but a light kick into his side told him it was not a wise decision.

'Hmm, honey, I thought you'd never ask.' His grin fell as he started to circle around the detective. 'You offer me your life in exchange letting them go.' He stopped. 'How noble. Oh wait, it's no-ot,' he sang. 'Haha. You were just about to march into your own death and I SAVED you.'

'Why?' Sherlock frowned tilting his head.

'I don't know,' Moriarty sang. 'You're not even that much fun.' He pouted then pretended to be deep in his thoughts. 'But you have something I am very interested in.'

He nodded towards the man who held John. The guard straightened up and with a hum turned towards the stairs. John, feeling the gun disappearing from his head, stirred.

'Down boy,' Moriarty said in a playful tone as he pushed him lower with his foot on his back and a gun on his temple. John growled but stayed.

When they heard creaking the steps under two pairs of feet, they both turned their attention towards the newcomers. The guard held Molly strongly by an arm around her neck. Her dishevelled hair was spread across her face and she was obviously fighting against crying as the man was dragging her into the living room.

Sherlock's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed but he stayed still. Moriarty chuckled looking back and forth between them. 'Molly, Molly, Molly.' He shook his head. 'I was so hurt when I realised that you had just used me to get the great Sherlock's Holmes' attention. Didn't you consider my feelings for you?' His voice was full of faked resentfullness.

Molly blushed in shame and anger. She stole an apologising look towards Sherlock who merely sook his head encouragingly. 'This boyfriend of yours says he exchanges his life for yours.'

Molly's expression first became confused then desperate. Her eyes were searching for Sherlock's but he was clearly avoided eye-contact. 'What...? Sherlock? What's going on?'

'Ah-ah-aaah! Brilliant! This wasn't part of the plan, was it, Molly dear? He had told you that with some heroic action he would take me down and you would live happily ever after, hadn't he? Sherlock, you naughty boy. Tsk-tsk.' Moriarty laughed so pleased with himself he barely could stop. 'You pets are so amusing, you know.'

Tears were filling Molly's eyes as she stared at the consulting criminal. Anger rose on her face and with a sudden movement she drew herself out of the henchmen's grip with a scream and with an unexpected speed she appeared in front of Moriarty. Her palm was so quick, he was surprised to recieve a relatively huge slap from the small woman. But before the second one the guard came and grabbed her and pushed her to the wall with his large hand on her throat. Molly's eyes widened in fear and her breathing became difficult.

'Put her down,' Moriarty's voice wasn't playful anymore but even and calm his hand massaging his cheek. 'You know what Sherlock? I accept your offer. You die, they can leave. I promise, I evwn give my word.' His grin went wide but faded away immediately.

'I need insurance,' Sherlock's voice was flat his eyes constantly flicking towards Molly.

'No, you don't.' Moriarty shook his head as he was pulling out his phone from his pocket with a smug smile and turned it to show the screen to Sherlock. 'Say hello to Mummy and Daddy Holmes.' Sherlock face darkened as he saw the live picture of his parents on the back seat of a car with darkened windows. They obviously were scared but tried to act calm and endure the whole thing with dignity. 'If my men don't get a sign from me in two hours, well, let's say they won't have to worry about anymore if they got their pension in time.'

'Oh, Jesus!' John sighed in aggravation seeing his best friend's expression.

'Oh yes. As you all see, I was really throughout.' Moriarty paced up and down in the small living room pretending to be deep in his thoughts. 'Sooo, as I previously mentioned, I am willing to accept your offer, Sherlock. With only one condition.' He turned to face the detective with a cruel smile than took a second gun from his belt. He nodded to the man holding Molly who had stopped to fight long ago and now was just standing fast and staring in front of herself with deep purple fingerprints on her neck.

The guard lead Molly to his boss. Moriarty reached out and held the gun to her smiling with fake kindness. 'Kill him.'

Molly slowly lifted her glassy eyes and slightly shook her head in disbelief. 'No, no, please don't,' she whispered. But as she followed Jim's look she gasped. The other guard who held Anthea lowered his gun to point at her growing belly.

'If she'll be lucky enough she will die immediately.' Moriarty's flat voice froze the blood in Molly's veins. She slowly turned towards Sherlock with the question in her eyes. Sherlock looked broken. His straight posture dropped, dark bags under his tired eyes appeared.

'I'm sorry Molly, so sorry. I didn't know...' He gulped hard. 'You have to do this. Please. It's the deal.'

'No, I can't, I'd rather die myself.' Molly sobbed.

'Please, be strong, Molly. Take the gun. Please, I owe this to my brother and John and you.' Sherlock was almost crying too, his voice was broken and tears began to fill his eyes, but gave a heartening smile to her.

Molly took the gun with a shaking hand. She held it like it was the most disgusting thing in the world.

'Ah, God. Could you be more melodramatic?' Moriarty remarked in a bored tone. 'Do it!' He shouted. Molly slowly folded her fingers on the cold metal and lifted pointing at the consulting criminal's direction.

'Not a good idea,' the guard spoke next to her nodding towards Anthea. Moriarty was just smiling his wide satisfied smile. Sherlock shook his head as he stepped forward and spread his arms slightly to let better admittance to his body. Molly looked at him from behind tears.

'Right in his heart, dear, just to be stylish.' Moriarty somehow appeared behind her and whispered in her ear. 'Don't worry, if you miss the target you can try again,' he sang before chuckled and Molly felt her stomach turn. Till this point she had felt some kind of sorry for him. She had thought there had to be a little good in his possibly very wounded and lonely heart. But now she only wanted to see him finished off.

Molly glanced at Anthea, then back at Sherlock. With uncertain hold she pointed the gun at Sherlock. Her hands were shaking violently and she was fighting not to close her eyes but to find Sherlock's. He looked miserable but his eyes fixed on her were calm and warm and told Molly what she had to know.

Suddenly she was aware of everything, her senses became sharp and precise. She knew exactly that she had to be very quick. As she pulled the trigger she briefly heard John's shouting and Moriarty's hysterical laugh. She stumbled forward to get hold on the sofa dropping the gun far from her dangling hand. She saw Sherlock lying on the floor motionless, with his face half down. She so wanted to reach him, to touch him, but she knew she couldn't. It all went silent except the consulting criminal's laughter when suddenly a phone in the room buzzed indicating a text message. The sound came from Sherlock's coat pocket.

**I know. I know. Next one will be up sooner. The end is near, hopefully in time too.**

**Let me know if you are still interested. ;) Thanks for reading.**

**Lanceletta**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi dears, surprise! Thank you for all your kindness. I'm sorry I haven't answered yout reviews via pm, but time is a cruel monster. **

**So here it is, I hope you get answer for a few questions but others might remain open. Let me know your thoughts and feelings. Enjoy. hopefully. **

The driver of the black BMV comfortably leaned back in his seat. He had been waiting for hours for a sign on his phone. The two old people on the backseat had ended the annoying sobbing for a while now. They finally understood that it had been absolutely unreasonable.

'It's better for all of us if you stay silent, believe me.' He slightly turned as he was gesticulating with his gun and the woman drew back more pushing herself into the backseat with wide eyes.

The old man leaned to her and whispered into her ear.

'Be calm, darling, you know our boys. They will do something. '

The old lady nodded with teary eyes and tapped her husband's hand resting on her knee.

They both turned as they saw that somebody was knocking on the window of the driver seat.

'Bloody hell,' hissed the driver, straightening his grip on the gun but didn't move. He had parked with the car on an extremely neglected area.

The knocking continued impatiently. The driver turned his head and looked outside. 'Bloody hell,' he repeated louder. He let down the window a bit. A very pregnant woman was standing next to the car with a pained expression.

'Sorry Mister, but... uh...my water just happened to broke. Couldn't you take me to the hospital?' she said in a trembling voice her eyes wide in fear.

'Find somebody else. I don't have ti...' But his sentence had to remain unfinished since a small hole appeared on his forehead and leaned back lifeless.

'Violet, David,' the woman opened the door. 'Hi. Come now. Come, come.' She smiled warmly and gesture to them to get out qickly.

'Mary? What happened? Is Sherlock safe? How...?' Mrs Holmes asked stunned as she was climbing out followed by her husband.

'Well, I'll explain later. Let's hurry now.' Mary led them to a dark blue car and asked them to get in before quickly sending a text from her phone.

_They are fine and with me. Go boys! MW_

She started the car and started to drive towards the safe house Mycroft had laid down previously.

Molly was kneeling on the floor leaning on her palms, her head dropped between her shoulders near the man's body she loved. She glanced at Sherlock's face she could hardly see his eyes under the dark mop of hair of his. But she saw what she needed to see in his widening, very livid eyes. He silently mouthed NOW!

Molly pulled out the small gun Anthea had previously taped to the bottom of the sofa. A moment later Sherlock was still on his stomach but was holding the dropped gun Molly had kicked near to his hand, as she turned and shot the guard behind her. Using the time she won she backed and run towards the kitchen. From the corner of her eyes she saw Mycroft bulge in through the back door with an expression ice cold, he looked dead calm but he was inhumanly quick. She had never seen him like that without his elegant suit and umbrella. With a gun in each hand he marched through and shortly after Molly heard four gunshots.

The next moments were unbearable. She was crouching under the table, her gun in a tight grip in her hand. She heard nothing but dead silence from inside. Molly stirred; her heart pressed her to go in, to see if they were fine. If he was fine. But she stayed. Sherlock had told her to stay until he came for her. So she didn't move a bit.

Then suddenly the back door opened. Garish lights came through the windows. People came in shouting loudly passing her. She gasped in fear, as an arm reached for her and she heard someone speaking to her. First she couldn't understand what they said but a moment later it was getting clearer.

'...help, miss? Can you hear me? Do you need any medical help, miss?'

Molly could only shake her head, mouthing a silent no. The next thing she knew was a large hand taking her gun away gently and pulling her out from under the table. She reached for the familiar coat's sleeve and was practically hanging onto it for moments while Sherlock's strong hands were holding her close to him.

'It's over Molly. It's over.' He whispered constantly not being able to let her go. Molly felt her chest rising violently as Sherlock's embrace was tightening.

A few moments later he pushed her away only to look into her eyes. 'Molly, listen to me now. John's been shot. I have to go with him. Do you think you will be all right? Lestrade will take you to the hospital after us. Anthea and Mycroft are on the way already.'

Molly was listening with wide eyes than nodded.

'Are you sure?' Sherlock asked uncertainly.

Molly only nodded again wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. By the time Lestrade arrived her breathing calmed down.

'Dear God, Molly. Are you okay?' Lestrade stood next to them frowning. Molly slowly turned her head towards him and forced a smile. She felt Sherlock's hand loosening on her torso as he was stepping away towards the starting ambulance. His eyes were still on Molly as he doubled his steps then got into the car. Molly was staring after Sherlock when she felt Greg's hand on her shoulder.

'Let's go, Molly.'

She nodded then let him to lead her to his car.

By the time they arrived at the hospital John was already in the operation room. Sherlock was nervously pacing up and down on the corridor. As he saw Molly and Lestrade arrive he stopped and stared at them from the other end of the room.

Lestrade cleared his throat,' Well maybe I'll fetch some coffee or something.' He forced a smile and turned to leave.

Molly stood there fidgeting not knowing what to do exactly, but then she decided. She walked to Sherlock and silently hugged him. They stood there clinging on each other for seconds. When Sherlock finally moved he brought up his hands to cup Molly's face and lowered his head to search for her mouth with his own. She willingly rose onto her toes and deepened the kiss. This was the sight Lestrade met when he entered the waiting room. He almost dropped the paper cups he was holding in surprise. He considered giving a sign of his presence but instead he turned and left with a wide smile on his face. Coffee could wait. Apparently.

Later when he decided it was safe for return, Sherlock was pacing again but Molly was settled in one of the wide armchairs with Sherlock's coat covering her s a blanket. Her eyes were closed, but her body was tensed, she wasn't asleep obviously but she didn't move either so Lestrade decided to let her rest.

Lestrade walked up to the consulting detective to offer him a cup. The other silently took it and sipped.

'It's cold.' He winced.

'Well, you're welcome. I tried to bring it earlier but you were both deeply occupied.' Lestrade couldn't and didn't want to hide his grin as Sherlock turned his head to examine the blank white wall next to him.

'Thanks for the coffee.' he said finally as he dropped the cup into the bin.

'Any news?' The DI's expression became serious.

'Hmm...not yet.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Though the doctor in the ambulance car said that the wound itself didn't seem fatal though he had lost quite a lot of blood. So...' He gulped.

'He will be all right, mate.' Lestrade patted his shoulder awkwardly before he left him and sat onto the couch not far from Molly's armchair. Just a moment later the surgery room's door opened and a very tired looking surgeon entered the waiting area.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hi, Dears, I'm so, so sorry I made you wait this long. I hope you can still enjoy the last chapter of this story of mine. Thank you for still reading it and that you didn't lose your interest. Enjoy and tell me something nice after reading. (; Thank you very much for all your support through the months, I loved every bit of it.**

**Oh and I'm terribly sorry that I hadn't answered to the guest reviwer who wanted to translate this story to Chinese. I would be honoured. Could you please write me a pm? **

**Have a lovely weekend,**

**Lanceletta**

Molly's eyes snapped open as she heard the sound of the man.

'John Watson?' He asked uncertainly.

Sherlock was in front of him immediately. It was enough for him to observe the doctor and he already knew what was important and sighed deeply. Lestrade and Molly stepped ahead as they asked simultaneously. 'How is he?'

'With a gentle smile he nodded.' He is fine, though he will need a few weeks to recover fully.' You can go in an about hour later. The sedative's effect is still quite strong; he may drift in and out of sleep.

'Thank you, doctor.' Molly smiled at him gratefully the two men just nodded agreeing. As they stood there watching the door closing behind the doctor, Sherlock's hand found Molly's. She clenched her fingers around his immediately and saw him smiling without looking at her.

With a loud thud the waiting room's door sprang open and a very dishevelled and very pregnant Mary Watson stormed in.

'How's he?' Her eyes were worried but stone cold at the same time as she addressed her question to the consulting detective.

'He is out of surgery, Mary. He is fine.' Sherlock's voice was low, but steady though he was looking a bit worried.

'Fine? Don't tell me he is fine. He's been shot. Oh, bloody hell, Sherlock! What's happened?'

'He saved Molly's life.' Sherlock stated simply.

'Ah...'Molly gasped behind Sherlock. 'I didn't know this. How?' she demanded.

Mary's expression softened and her face told about her honour and love for her husband. 'Tell us.' she insisted.

'After Molly run out of the room the henchmen she had shot flung after her but John sprang up and jumped on him. They were fighting over the gun when he got injured. Of course our good doctor found the soldier inside himself and got exasperated like a bull. He finished the unlucky man with one deadly shot after he snatched his gun.' The whole story seemed to be so simple almost boring from Sherlock's mouth that Molly frowned at him in confusion.

'I think I owe him so much I hardly can imagine how to pay him back what he did, considering how much he risked because of me.' She said glancing at Mary.

'No,' Sherlock cleared his throat before he continued, 'I owe him so much,' he murmured.

As they stood there the door of the room area opened and a middle aged nurse gestured towards them. Mary hurried to her, with Molly and Sherlock on her heels.

'Are you John Watson's relatives?'

'Yes, I'm his wife.' Mary smiled shortly but she was clearly impatient.

'You can come in, he is awake.'

'Oh, thank God.' She laughed happily. Relief was clear on Mary's face as she followed the nurse inside after she gave a wide smiled glance to Sherlock and Molly.

'Let us know if we can go in,' Molly said quickly before the door shut behind Mrs Watson.

They stood there staring at the door, not knowing if that was the time for the conversation they knew they had to have.

'He is fine then,' Molly broke the silence smiling at the detective.

'Yes, he is,' Sherlock nodded but Molly still sensed the tension in him.

'What's bothering you?' Molly stepped closer and looked into his eyes.

'Nothing,' he answered and turning around he walked to sit down next to Lestrade who apparently had dozed off sometime between the surgeon's words and Mary's dramatic entering. Sherlock leaned back with steepled hands and closed his eyes.

Molly stayed there, not intending to follow Sherlock; he clearly wanted to be alone.

A few minutes later the door opened and Mary peeked out. 'He wants to see you.'

Molly and Sherlock looked at her expectantly. 'Both of you.' Mary nodded.

Sherlock stood up fidgeting with his suit, than he straightened the newspapers on the table when finally with a deep sigh he walked next to Molly and grabbed her hand. With tight smile he opened the door to the corridor to follow Mary.

John's room was a double but he was the only patient in it. As Sherlock entered John lifted his gaze upon him. 'You owe me a quite elaborated explanation, you git. I would punch you in the face if I could.'

'Yes, I think so,' Sherlock nodded sincerely. 'Ask what you want to know. I'll tell you everything.'

'You will now, won't you?' John huffed.

Sherlock only cleared his throat but didn't answer or looked up to meet his friend's eyes.

'Oh.' Molly looked from one to the other with a frown and a mouth shaping a small 'o'. 'John didn't know about the whole plan, did he?' Molly stood there stunned.

'Well, the less he knew about it...'

'But you told us that Molly's acting skills were horrible and that was why you had to keep information from her.' John frowned at his best friend. When he heard the pathologist groaning he added, 'Sorry, Molly.'

'No, John I said she was horrible in acting as we all knew well.' He looked expectantly at his friend.

'Don't do that face!'

'What face?' Sherlock frowned in confusion.

'Sherlock!' John hissed.

'Well, what would you tell about someone's acting skills who helps me to fake my death and keeps it secret for two years in front of everyone while she is still working with Scotland Yard, attending my funeral, and frequently visiting Mrs Hudson and you?'

'Khm,' John cleared his throat embarrassed. 'Well she must be pretty good in pretending.'

'Exactly.' Sherlock smiled tightly.

'Then why did you tell me nothing?'

'We were bugged.'

'But later you could just let me know sometimes...somehow.'

'Well, yes, but not everybody's acting skills are that sophisticated.' Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently.

'What?' John raised one eyebrow.

'You are really horrible at it John. Tell him Mary!' Sherlock exclaimed having enough of guarded chatting.

John furrowed and looked at his wife questioningly.

'Oh God!' Mary growled.' Leave me out of this, Sherlock!' came Mary's quick answer.

'Oh, great, really great,' John huffed rolling his eyes pouting.

Then Molly came forward hoping to give the conversation another direction. 'I've just heard how you've been wounded, John. I just want to say thank you, really.' Molly smiled gently at the doctor placing her hand onto his shoulder.

'Well, Molly, to be honest I owed that git with this. He had saved the woman I love. It was obvious that I have to do the same when the time comes.' John excused himself and his face warmed and relaxed as he spoke. His hand searched for his wife's and gripped it tightly while he was curiously searching his best friends face.

'One thing, Molly. How the bloody hell can you shoot like that. And please don't tell me that you were an assassin too in your previous life.'

Molly shook her head with a smile. 'No, but I was locked together with a quite skilled government agent for weeks.' She chuckled.

Meanwhile Sherlock was studying the very interesting fire escape plan hung on the inner side of the door, pretending to be completely lost in it. When he felt all the eyes on himself he cleared his throat and turned with narrowed eyes.

'Well...khm...maybe we should leave, Molly, don't you think? John obviously needs to rest.' Sherlock looked at Molly expectantly.

John couldn't help but smile. He knew that the whole situation with Molly made his friend embarrassed and uneasy with no end but seeing it was so funny and heart warming at the same time.

'Uhm... yes...of course.' Molly waved awkwardly as she stepped towards the door.

Sherlock would leave without any further word but John's question stopped him.

'Just one more question. How the hell could you involve Mary without me knowing about it?'

'Sherlock turned slightly.' Mycroft got in touch with her the last moment. We knew that if she knew about her part sooner she wouldn't risk not telling you.' Sherlock shrugged. 'Mary is clever enough not to lie to you again.' With this he exited in his heels with Molly.

As they stepped outside the hospital a black car pulled down on the street in front of them. Sherlock rolled his eyes as the window revealed his brother's stoic face.

'You are still not free to go, brother mine.' Mycroft opened the door to let both of them climb in.

They sat in silence for minutes. Molly couldn't remember if she had ever felt more uncomfortable in her life.

'I have a job offer for you,' Mycroft started but his little brother didn't let him continue.

'I accept.'

Mycroft's eyebrows run up to the top of his forehead.

'Well then, it's settled.' He shifted in his seat. Mycroft turned towards Molly and looked at her like he had never seen her and nodded with a long blink.

After a few minutes of staring out the windows Molly got the courage and asked, 'How's Anthea and the baby?'

'She's...they are fine. She needs to rest.' Mycroft's answer was hesitant but his expression became warmer after a few blink. Molly almost couldn't suppress her smile. It seemed after all both Holmes boys had heart despite the common presumption.

When the cab stopped in front of a small inn and Molly started to climb out of it Mycroft suddenly stopped her by touching her arm. 'Thank you Molly. I highly appreciate what you did.'

'Oh...it was my pleasure, I mean I wanted to help,' she nodded smiling and closed the door.

As they were watching the black car pulling away Sherlock huffed. 'Old softie.'

Molly chuckled. 'Well, it runs in the family.'

'What do you mean?' Sherlock frowned, turning towards her but Molly just smiled at him openly with shining eyes. 'Hm.' Sherlock hummed with a nod in recognition and turned towards the inn's entrance without further discussion.

As Sherlock had suspected a room was reserved under his name. As they stepped into the already semi dark room Molly was surprised to feel Sherlock's arms around her waist. It was obvious that he was not person of showing his affections in public, she wasn't that kind either, but there had been moments during the last day when he behaved so detached she didn't have the courage to indicate anything intimate. As she turned to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck she felt his embrace tighten.

'Molly, Molly, Molly,' he murmured as he breathed into her hair. His fatigue was so obvious now from the way he clung to her.

Molly sighed contently and lifted her face touch her lips lightly to his.

When their kiss ended they stood there hanging onto each other for a while without a world. The weight of the last weeks had been heavier than they had anticipated and was just starting to lift off them.

When they parted it was already semi dark. Only the opposite house's lamps gave some dim light to the room. Molly silently shrugged off her coat, then reached up to Sherlock's scarf and gently removed it. She peeled off his coat, gingerly hanging it up next to hers. Sherlock was intently watching her every move and let her lead him into the room. He sat down willingly onto the bed as she gently pushed him down.

His heartbeat fastened as she started to unbutton than pushed aside his suit jacket.

As Molly cupped his face gently, stroking his cheek with her thumbs. Sherlock drew her between his spread knees and lifted his gaze to meet hers. The understanding and love he found there lavished to him. His arms pulled her as close as it was possible by her hips. Molly smiled down at him with the warmest smile he had ever received. Sherlock run his hands higher on her back and leaned back on the bed, pulling Molly with him gently. Her weight of her body pushing to his seemed to be the only power what keeps his mind in one piece.

They both kicked off their shoes as their lips met. Their hands were searching for the best grip on the other's clothes, hair and body.

Sherlock was so lost in the dizzying sensations that he was quite surprised to feel Molly pushing herself up, with her palms resting on his chest. In the dark he only saw the silhouette of her head adumbrated by the thin unruly hairs escaped from the tight bun and the dim contours of her features in the back-light. Her breathing was quick, he felt the warmth of her body radiating irrespectively of the distance.

Sherlock swallowed hard as he reached up to touch the small glory around Molly's head with so gingerly she barely felt the movement.

His breath was just as quick as hers; he felt his heart pounding under her palm. His cheeks were fleshed and his body's every part was utterly aware of her close proximity. A question was lingering on his slightly opened lips but the fear of hearing something he didn't want to hear suppressed his voice. He was trying to search her face but the darkness hid her.

'What was your brother's offer?' Molly asked barely audible, with a husky voice.

'Hmm...'Sherlock groaned. 'He hired me as an MI6 agent retroactively. From the time the whole Moriarty issue had begun. So in the files killing Magnussen looks like I was obeying an order.' He slightly turned his head but still held his eyes on Molly examining her with his every sense.

Molly looked at him questioningly. With a wince he continued. 'I overheard him on the phone earlier. But I wasn't sure if he would actually let me walk.' After her long silence he continued, 'The whole thing is at least morally questionable.'

'Yes, but you did accept it.'

'Yes, I did.' He cleared his throat. 'I did.' Sherlock nodded.

'Why?' Molly murmured run her one hand on his chest towards his bare neck.

'You know exactly why.'

Molly didn't answer just leaned forward to kiss him strongly leaving behind all her worries and anxiety in the act, smiling happily against his lips.

'You will owe your brother quite much.' Molly murmured between two kisses.

Sherlock growled. 'Don't even tell me, I'll be practically his slave.' He rolled his eyes but smiled as he wrapped his arms around Molly and rolled them over as he growled hungrily and kissed her enthusiastically. 'But it will worth it.'

That night there was no wall of uncertainty or bitterness of saying good bye between them. There were the lightness of belonging together and the empty pages of the future.


End file.
